NO  PLAYS  EXCHANGED. 


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iHlLACTING  DRAMA, 


No.  55. 


FIFTEEN  YEARS  OF  .1 

DRUNKAED'S    LIFE. 


y  E  W    YORK; 
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UCSB  LIBRARY 
FIFTEEN    YEARS 

O  F    A 

DRUNKARD'S  LIFE. 

A   MEL0DRA3IA, 

BY 
DOUGLAS    JERROLD,    ESQ. 


NEW  EDITION,   REVISED  AND  IMPROVED. 


COBBECTI-y   PRINTED    rBOM  THE  PROMPTEB's   COPY,    WITH   THE  CAST   OF 

CHARACTERS,    COSTUMES,    SIDES   OF    ENTRANCE    AND    EXIT, 

BEIATIVE  POSITIONS  OF   THE  DRAMATIS  PER- 

60N;B,    PROPERTY  PLOTS,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK  : 
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No.    1    CHAMBERS    STREET. 


Digitized  by  tine  Internet  Arcliive 
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FIFTEEN    YEAES    OF    A    DRUISTK- 
AED'S  LIFE. 


CAST   OF   CHABACTEES. 

London  Theatres.  Burton's  Theatre,  N.  Y. 

Vernon ...•.<••.•  4, Mr.  Cobham.  Mr.  G.Jordan, 

Glanville "    Gann.  "    Dyott. 

Franklin "    Wynne.  "    Bland. 

DoGROSE "    Sloman.  "  Johnstone. 

CopSEWOOD "    H.Williams.  "    Burton. 

Juniper "    Mortimer.  

Pounce "    Worrell.  

WiNGBiRD.. "    E.L.Lewis.  

Butts,  (Servant.) "   Porteus.  

Banker's  Clerk 

LANDLORDi- 

Picklock "    ELsgood.  

First  Thief 

Alicia Miss  Watson.  Mrs.  Russell. 

Miss  Vernon Mrs.  Lewis.  

Isabella "    Congrcve.  

Pattv Miss  Tomlinson.  

Lady  and  Gentlemen  Visitors,  Bailiffs,  Robbers,  Villagers,  &'c.,  &'c. 


Time  of  RepreseivLodion. — Two  Hours  and  a  Half, 


Scene.  — England. 


COSTUMES. 

Vernom.— .RrVrf  dress  :  A  riding  costume.  Second  dress ;  Full  modem  dress. 
Third  dress  :  Suit  of  black.     Fourth  dress  :  A  dress  of  mere  rags. 

Glanville. — First  and  second  dress ;  Modern  dress. 

Franklin. — The  same. 

DoGROSE. — First  and  second  dress  :  A  livery. 

CopSEWooD. — First  dress :  That  of  a  farmer.  Second  dress:  That  of  a  poor 
peasant.      Third  dress  :  Gray  ragged  jacket  and  breeches. 

Juniper. — First  and  second  dress :  That  of  a  poor  peasant. 

PouNE. — Suit  of  black. 

Wingbird. — That  of  a  sportsman. 

Butts. — Livery. 

Banker's  Clerk. — Walking  suit. 


iV  7IFTEEM  TEABS  OF  A  DBTTNKABI>  S  UnS. 

LAKDLORD.^^oat,  breeches  and  apron. 
Picklock. — Jacket  and  breeches. 

Alicia. — First  dress:  Morning  gown.      Second  dress:  Brown  gown.      Third 
dress  :  Black. 

Miss  Vernon. — White  frock. 
Isabella. — ^The  same. 
Pattv.— Dress  of  a  nistic  girl. 


PKOPERTIES. 
ACT  I. 

Scene  I. — Sofa,  l.  Table,  with  cover,  and  chairs  r.  Long  muslin  curtains  to 
window  c.    Two  candles,  burnt  down  to  the  sockets.    Riding  whip. 

Scene  II. — Loaded  gun. 

Scene  III. — Furniture  same  as  in  Scene  I.  Salver  with  card  on  it  for  Servant  to 
bring  on  s.E.R.  Decanter,  wine  glass  and  goblet  at  wing,  s.E.R.,  the  wine  glass  to 
breaJc.  Banker's  check.  Several  deeds  and  papers,  accounts,  &c.  Large  bunch  of 
keys. 

Scene  IV. — Brandy  flask. 

ScENK  V. — Handsome  furniture — sofas,  tables,  chairs.  Colored  lamps  lighted  and 
fixed  over  the  Scene  and  grounds  beyond.  Decanters  of  wine,  dessert,  and  wine 
glasses  on  table  R.  Masks  "or  Characters  Dominos  for  the  same.  Bag  of  money. 
Pistols. 

Five  years  elapse  between  the  first  and  second  acts — change  costumes. 
ACT  II. 

Scene  T.— -Plain  table,  with  cover,  l.  Chairs.  An  easel,  with  a  small  picture  on 
it,  R.     Colors,  brushes,  &c.     Purse. 

Scene  II. — Stick. 

Scene  111. — Tables,  with  covers,  r.  and  i_  Four  chairs,  with  covers.  Bottle  of 
spirits.    Three  glasses.    Spirit  flask. 

Scene  IV. — Chair  behind  door  in  flat,  R.  Decanter  of  brandy  and  two  glasses  be- 
hind flat,  L. 

Scene  V. — A  dagger  knife.     Pistol  to  fire.    Pocket-book. 

Ten  years  elapse  between  the  second  and  third  acts— change  costumes. 
ACT  III. 

Scene  I. — A  Peddler's  pack.     Flask.    Wine.    Tin  money. 

Scene  II. — Inn  tables  r.  and  l.  Rustic  chairs.  Drinking  horns  on  table.  Pipes, 
&c. 

Scene  III. — B.-isket  of  wine.     Brandy  flask.    Straw  oflf  wing  l.    Gimlet. 
Scene  IV. — Two  bottles.     Loaded  pistol.     Dagger. 


EXPLANATION  OF   THE  STAGE  DIRECTIONS. 

L.,  means  first  entrance  left.  R.,  first  entrance  right.  S.E.L.,  second  entrance 
left.  S.E.R. ,  second  entrance  right.  T.E.L.,  third  entrance  left.  T.E.R..  third 
entrance  right.  U.E.L.,  upper  entrance  left.  U.E.R.,  upper  entrance  right.  C, 
centre.  L.C.,  left  of  centre.  R.C.,  right  of  centre.  C.L.,  centre  towards  left. 
C.R.,  centre  towards  right.  D.F.,  door  in  flat.  L.F.,  left  of  flat  R.F.,  right  of 
flat.    Observing  you  are  supposed  to  face  the  audience. 


FIFTEEN  YEARS  OF  A 
DRUNKARD'S  LIFE. 


ACT  I. 


Scene  L — Braicing  Room  in  Vernon's  House.  Door  s.e.b.  D-ench 
toindow,  c,  bucked  by  garden.  Sea  and  shipping  in  the  background. 
The  ca)idles  in  the  sockets.     Time,  morning,  lights  half  down. 

DoGBosE  discovered  lying  asleep  on  the  sofa,  l.—  knocking  without.  , 
Enter  Fbankun,  s.e.k. 

Ii\anklin.  What!  no  one  stirring  yet,  and  broad  day?  (Seeing 
X)oGB08E,  L. )  Why  tUe  knave  is  asleep.  (Shaking  him. )  Bouse  up, 
you  liizy  rasciil !  ronse  yourself ! 

Uogrose.  (Waking.)  Yes,  sir — j'es,  sir — coining!  here's  your 
slippers,  sir — and  here's  your  dressiug-gown — and  here's — (Jumping 
"ff  .•>'»/■(()  — ill,  bless  me!  I  beg  j'onr  pardon,  sir — I  thought  it  was 
xuy  master. 

Frank.  It  is  well  for  you  that  I  am  not,  I  take  it.  He  would  not 
bo  pleased  to  find  his  servants  sleeping. 

l)oij.  (L.)  Seeping!  ah,  sir — I  have  watched  all  the  night  like  a 
miser  over  his  money-chest — my  ears  have  been  pricked  up  fike  a  ter- 
rier's for  the  thunder  of  the  knocker.  Night  after  night,  I  waste  my- 
self away  to  the  light  of  two  mould  candles — and  what's  the  return? 
If  my  master  goes  on  thus,  he  must  get  a  lynx  to  watch  for  him — I'll 
sit  up  no  longer. 

Frank,     (u.)     What !  is  Veruon,out? 

Dog.    The— the  old  game,  sir.    The  bottle— the  bottle.        (Sighs. 


6  TOPj-JCKS  XBABS  of  a  DnUNEABD's  UTE. 

Ii)-ank.  Mad,  infataated  yoiuig  man !  so  faithfullj'  as  he  promised 
to  reform. 

Dog.  Promised !  bless  j'ou,  sir,  I've  beard  bim  renounce  wine  a 
Imudred  times  a  day— but  tben  it  has  been  between  as  many  gliisses. 
He  never  takes  an  oath  but  he  settles  it  with  a  bumper. 

Frtaik.     Some  desperate  effort  must  yet  be  made  to  save  him. 

Dog.  I  know  but  one,  sir — destroy  all  the  vineyards — demolish  all 
the  distillexs,  and  cry  down  the  txa^e  of  brewer  as  wicked  and  un- 
lawful. (Knock  loiUiont,  B. 

D-ank.     Eh  !  who  comes  here — Vernon's  attorney  ?       (Looking  b. 

Dog.     Yes,  sir,  it  is  the  attorney  Pounce. 

MUer  PoTJNCE,  s.e.b. 

Pounce.  Good  morning,  Mr.  Franklin.  (  Grosses  to  c.)  Dogrose, 
is  your  master  stirring  ? 

Dog.  (L.)  Stirring?  No,  sir,  I  dare  say  he's  pretty  qniet  by  this 
time. 

Pounce.     Quiet !  bless  me  !    What !  not  dead  ? 

Dog.     (Aside.)    No  !  unless  it  is  that  he's  dead  drank. 

F)-ank.  (b.)  Not  defunct  in  law,  Mr.  Pounce — but  what  basiness 
have  you  with  Mr.  Vemou  ? 

Pounce.  Pardon  me,  an  attorney  is  always  conscience-keeper  to 
his  clients. 

li-ank.  When  men  trust  their  consciences  to  such  keepers,  is  it  to 
be  wondered  at,  if  they  are  returned  soiled  ?  Now  mark  me,  Mr. 
Pounce,  I  have  my  suspicious. 

Pounce.  Suspicions  ?  I'm  a  lawyer,  sir,  and  snap  my  fingers  at 
them.  I've  lived  in  the  teeth  of  suspicion  all  my  life.  (Snaps  his 
fingers. )    Pooh ! 

Fiank.  Aye,  so  long ;  that  suspicion  has  had  time  tb  grow  into 
proof. 

Pounce.  This  is  scandal,  sir.  Dogrose,  you're  a  witness,  you 
heard  all  this? 

Dog.  Not  a  syllable.  When  your  character  is  the  subject  of  con-* 
versation  I  stop  my  ears. 

Pounce.     Why? 

Dog.  I've  a  natural  aversion  to  bad  language ;  and  when  your 
reputation  comes  out,  I  know  what  must  follow. 

Vernon.     (  Myuhout,  c. )    Hallo  there  !  Dogrose  I  William  !  Mary ! 

Dog.     There's  my  master !  ( Relives  tip  l. 

Vebnon  rushes  in,  dressed  as  if  he  had  been  riding,  a  whip  in  his  hand, 
his  clothes  covered  with  mud,  and  his  whole  appearance  indicating  the 
dissoluteness  of  the  past  night,  frovi  c.  window. 

Ver.  (  Tel  labormg  touiei-  the  effects  of  intoxication. )  So — at  home 
at  last.  (  Throws  himself  on  sofa,  l. 

Pounce.  (With  the  greatest  servUiiy.)  Good  morning,  Mr.  \qx- 
non— fCVosses  to  sofa,  l.)— shall  I  take  your  whip? 


FIFTEEN   YEABS   OF  A   DBUNKAEl)  a   iJ.Fii.  7 

Ver.  (Cutling  him  with  U.)  Yes,  ttike  it— now  you've  Rot  it— 
XnacL  obliged  for  jour  politeuess.  Now  I  see  your  iuk  and  parcli- 
meut  countenance,  I  remember  I've  some  busiuess  with  yon — go  into 
the  library — dou't  tliiulc  I'm  drunk — no,  no — I  cau  nign  my  name 

with  a  flourish— with  a  flourish— F.  Vernon— F.—F. 

(Relapsing  ialo  insensibilily,  he  stands  llstlessli/  Irucinj  his  name 
upon  the  stage  loUh  the  handle  of  /us  whip. 

rounce.  (  Chuckles  aside,  ci-osses  to  b.  )  He's  iu  an  excellent  con- 
dition— I  have  the  papers  already  drawn  up,  ami  his  signature  will 
secure  all.  ( Exit  b-^-h. 

Dog.     (  Carefully  approaching  Vebnon,  r..c.)    Master  ! 

Ver.  Dogrose — eh!  why  haven't  you  caught  her?  Oh,  I'd  for- 
got ! — ha  !  ha  !  I  hadn't  told  yon — ^just  as  I  got  up  to  the  door,  I  slid 
off  the  saddle,  and  the  mare  set  away  at  full  gallop.  Go !  Here ! 
Catch  the  whip,  (throics  the  lohip,  rohich  Doqkose  catches)  then  catch 
her.  There,  don't  think  I'm  intoxicated.  (Aside. )  Only  drunk — 
dead  drunk.  (Fulls  on  sofa — exit  Doobosb,  8.k.b. 

I')-ank.     (L.C.)    Vernon! 

Ver.  (L.)  Franklin!  my  old  monitor — now  no  sermons— I've  my 
pocketbook  fall  of  scraps  in  favor  of  sobriety— I  always  read  them 
over  my  wine.  Now  dou't  talk,  for  I  know  what  you're  going  to 
say. 

Fi-ank.     Nothing--!  fear  me  you  are  past  the  cure  of  lectures. 

Ve):  Lectures  !  Frank,  you've  no  heart  for  generous  wine  !  Now 
there  was  last  night,  honest  Tim  Gl.mville,  Brightly,  myself  and 
others — how  much  do  j'ou  think  we  murdered?  Guess!  You  can't 
— you  haven't  iiuugiiiation  enough.  A  cool  two  dozen,  old  boy. 
(Slaps  him  0)i  the  shoulder.)  We  four  gentlemen  sat  down  to  two 
dozen. 

Frank.  Pray  as  you  sat  down  as  gentlemen,  under  what  chan^cters 
did  you  arise  ? 

Fej".  f  Laughs. )  What  that  to  yon  ?  But  it's  all  over — I  shall  re- 
form— I  shall  give  it  up— it  will  ruin  my  constitution— and  my  wife 
Alicia  too- -yes,  I  must  give  it  up — give  'em  both  up— hie.  I  said  so 
at  the  couelusion  of  the  fifth  bottle — said  I,  gentlemen,  this  is  too 
bad,  I'm  afraid  we're  getting  drunk— but  this  is  the  last ;  to  be  sure 
we  had  another,  but  I  shall  give  it  up.  (Sits  on  the  sofa. )  I  shall 
give  it — how  my  throat's  parched — I  must  have  one  glass  more. 

Frank.     One  more,  when  you  have  tliis  instixnt  forsworn  wine? 

['er.  Yes,  that  is,  wine  as  wine — but  this — this  1  take  as  medicine. 
One  more  glass  to  put  me  right  for  the  moiuiug.  Here,  Dogrose! 
(  (Jails  n. )    Dogrose  ! 

Enter  Doobosb,  s.e.b. 

Dog.     Sir !  what  is  it? 

Ver.     A  bumper  of  Burgundy,  quick  ? 

Dog.     Yes,  sir,  directly.  ( Going  :bu 

FtanJe.    Dogrose,  stay !    (Doobose  stops. )    Stay  where  yoii  are. 


8  FIFTEEN  TE&B8  OF  A  DSUMKABD's  LIFE. 

Ver.  C Angry.)  What!  Lave  I  no  command  in  my  own  house? 
The  Bnrgiiiidj' !  Isn't  he  my  domestic?  Am  I  not  his  master? 
Haven't  I  a  right 

Frank.  No  !  what  right  have  you  to  pnt  a  livery  upon  your  fellow- 
man,  and  call  him  sei-vaut,  when  you  are  the  most  abject  shive  to 
your  own  passions,  and  would  like  to  make  him  a  lackey  to  your 
VI IS  despotism? 

Ver.  (  Chnckling. )  Ah,  yes,  you  are  a  good  fellow— yon  mean 
well — but  I  must  have  the  Burgundy  ;  now  let  hiiu  get  me  one  glass. 
Go,  go,  Mr.  Franklin  will  let  you  get  me  one  glass— only  one  glass. 
No  wine — medicine — one  glass  of  medicine — onlj'  one — only  one ! 

(Fulls  into  a  siupoi-  on  the  sofa,  i* — Fbankun  and  Doobose 
attending  him.     Music,  and  ihe  scetie  doses. 


Scene  II. — View  of  the  Country.    Froyit  landscape  in  second  grooves. 
Enter  Winqbibd,  with  a  gun,  followed  hy  Jcnipeb.  b. 

Wlnghird.  (uc.)  Go  away,  go  awaj",  my  good  man,  I  can  do  very 
well  without  3'ou. 

Jii)iii>er.  (B.C. )  What !  and  you  won't  give  me  so  much  as  a  groat 
for  showing  you  where  the  game  lies  ;  not  a  groat  to  get  my  morn- 
ing's whet? 

Whig.     Whet,  frllow  !  drinking  thus  early  and  the  snn  hardly  up? 

Jan.  Yes,  I  know  that,  but  I  like  to  get  beforehand  with  my  work. 
(Wilh  cap  in  hand.)     Now  a  groat,  your  honor. 

Wing.     Not  a  farthing  ;  call  and  see  me  in  the  evening. 

Jan.  See  you  in  the  evening !  "What  do  you  take  me  for?  I  have 
never  been  able  to  see  anybody  after  twelve  o'clock  at  noon  for  tliese 
three  years.  Yon  won't  give  nie  anything?  Well,  never  mind  ;  I'll 
mortify  myself  and  keep  sober  for  these  two  liours  ;  I'll — I'll — 
(Snatches  a  hnndkercliief  from  Wingbibd's  packet— spe(tkx  aside.) 
This  will  bear  a  gli\.ss  —one  gLiss,  or  the  devil's  in  it ;  some  people 
woidd  say  this  is  a  robbery,  I  cidl  it  a  loan.  (Chuckles  asuie. 

Wing.     What  are  jou  muttering  about? 

Jiiii.  Preaching  patience  to  my  throat,  your  honor.  And  now  to 
Mast,  r  Kilderkin,  at  the  Nag's  Hwul.  (Exit  b. 

WiiKj.  Well,  liere  I  am — my  fii.st  appearance  with  a  gun.  I  see 
no  game  j'et.  (  Lnoks  off' i..)  Eh  !  yes,  tiiere's  something  very  like 
a  i>iirtri«Ige — no  it's  a  turkey.  Ah!  tiiere's  certainly  a  ceck  pheasant 
through  tlie  trees — no,  it's  ribbons  in  the  hat  of  a  recruiting  sergeant. 
There's  a  black  cat  sleeping  among  that  straw  ;  nobody's  near— for 
want  of  better  sport  I'll  just  see  how  a  cat  cairies  swan-shot. 

(Presents  his  piece  and  fires  off  stage,  e. 


FIFTEEN  YKAB8  OF  A  DBUNKABD  S   LIFE.  9 

CoFszvrooD  jumps  on/vom  s.rb. 

Copse.     (luC.)    E'alliallo!  ( Singfjens  over  to -u 

Wing,     (v-i.'.)     Wliiit !  ii  man  !    Bless  me,  sir,  you  ure  not  killed? 

Copse.  Killed!  What !  by  such  a  marksmau  us  you  ?  (Laughs.) 
Why,  you  wouldn't  Lit  a  goose  at  a  yard  distant. 

Wing.  (Aside.)  So  it  should  seem,  for  I  have  just  fired  at  o;ie. 
(Aloud.)  But  I  say,  you  are  sure  j'ou  Lave  no  shots  in  you? — 
shake  yourself  !  Bless  me,  I  hope  I  haven't  carried  part  of  your  coat 
and  waistcoat  away  ? 

Copse.  (  Whose  clothes  are  turn  to  tatters  a?td  hedanhed  wiUi  mud.) 
No,  no,  I  recollect  it  all  now. 

Wing.  Excuse  me,  my  friend,  but  there  looks  something  like  four 
in  the  morning  written  about  your  clothes  ;  j'ou  don't  look  like  cue 
■who  put  his  night-cap  on  at  nine  o'clock  last  night. 

Copse.  Night-cap !  No,  the  truth  is,  I  did  take  a  little  ;  I  sold  my 
corn  well  at  the  market,  and  so  for  luck's  sake  I— I-^you  understand. 
The  night  was  confoundedly  dark,  and  so  I  thought  I'd  sit  it  out  till 
morning  ;  when  the  morning  c.ime,  egad,  I  was  dark  ;  I  thought  I'd 
crawled  into  bed,  but  there,  you  see,  was  my  sleeping  chamber  on 
yonder  straw  rick  (Pointing  off,  s.e.l. 

^Vlllg.     Yes,  verj'  prettj'  furnished  lodging  for  single  gentlemen. 

Copse.     You  are  come,  sir,  I  presume,  for  the  sporting  season? 

Wing.  Yes,  I've  been  taking  lessens  in  town  on  purpose.  I  can 
bring  down  anything. 

Copse.  Can  you?  I  wish  you'd  bring  down  the  taxes.  But  for 
lessons — where  did  you  take  lessons? 

Wing.  Why,  at  the  hair-trigger  academj'— rudiments  of  duelling 
displayed  on  scientific  principles.  There  are  two  or  three  schools  of 
the  kind  in  Loudon,  where  young  gentlemen  are  taught  to  bring  down 
sixpenses  at  forty  paces,  preparatory  to  shooting  their  bosom  friends 
at  six. 

Copse.  A  prettj'  amusement !  Now  hadn't  such  sparks  better  imi- 
tate the  example  of  Tom  Copsewood  and  his  companions,  who  never 
Lave  Luit  the  distanca  of  a  well-filled  tiible  between  them  ;  and  as  for 
firiug  at  one  another,  why  so  they  do— but  it's  with  bumpers,  spark- 
Hng  bumpers  ;  and  though  hiJf  be  killed  and  wounded  at  night,  why 
they  are  hale  and  Learty  iu  the  morning.  Hang  it,  if  ever  I'd  a 
quarrel  with  a  man,  why  I'd  drink  it  out  with  him— and  ha  that 
was  first  under  the  tible  should  own  himself  to  be  in  the  wrong. 
What  say  you,  master?  Eh  !  I  feel  a  little  staggered  or  so  ;  but  my 
morning's  draught  will  set  all  right  again.  Will  you  step  into  the 
farm  7 

Wing.  No,  I'm  losing  time  ;  I  must  away,  for  I've  not  Lad  ai  sin- 
gle shot.     I'll  just  go  over  by  yonder  hill. 

Cipse.  Don't— you'll  get  iuto  old  Springley's  grounds;  Le'll  be 
sure  to  cross  you  somehow  or  other. 

Wing.     An  old  bunks,  eh  ? 


10  FXFTESM  YEABS  OF  A  DSUNKABD'u  LIFE. 

Copse,  Hnuks !  I'll  give  j-ou  Lis  cbnracter  in  a  word — lie  drinks 
nothing  but  wwter — bia  neighbors  can't  rest  for  the  going  of  the 
pomp  ;  he's  a  terrible  old  dog.  Now  yon  n)iiy  shoot  anything  upon 
my  grounds  ;  and  harkye.  If  you  cau't  find  anything  else,  why  Ihere's 
b  ROW  and  a  litter  of  thirteeu  pigs  in  the  yard ;  damme,  you  shall 
have  a  shot  at  all  of  them. 

Winfj.  You  are  very  good — (laughs  and  crosses  to  l.)— so  if  I  find 
the  covers  unproductive,  depend  upon  it  I'll  return  to  the  pig-sty. 

(  Exit  I,. 

Copse.  That's  a  good  fellow — for  I  know  he  likes  a  glass — I  can 
see  three  times  three  in  his  countenance.  A  glass— ave,  a  glass  as  the 
song  says : 

Song  introduced. — "A  glass  is  good  and  n  lass  is  good." 

(At  end  of  song  he  retires  B. 

Mita-  Paiti,  from  Vtefaiin,  s.  e.  l. 

Patty.  Wher^  can  luy  silly  brother — oh,  there  he  stands — as  usual. 
(Ooing  up  to  him  and  slappivfj  him  on  shouldei:  )     Thomas,  Thoinan ! 

Copse.     { Seeing  her. )    Patty!    Oh,  what,  it's  you,  sister,  is  it  ? 

(Comes  down  b.c. 

Patty.     (L.C.)     Is  it  yon.  brother? 

Cbpse,     Why,  to  be  sum  it  is  ;  don't  you  know  me? 

Patty.     How  can  you  expect  me,  whey  you  thus  forget  yourself? 

(k>pse.  None  of  your  short  replies,  Patty.  You  stick  you  answers 
like  bodkins  into  me. 

Patty.     Where  have  you  been  all  night  ? 

(hpse.  What's  that  to  yor»  ?  Mind  your  churning  and  your  poul- 
try, and  don't  interfere  with  the  afiBiira  of  men ;  no  petticoat  ser- 
mons. 

Patty.     Oh,  Thomas,  Thomas  !  this  is  a  sad  change.  (Cries. 

Copse.  A  change!  why,  what's  the  girl  whimpering  at ?  Can't  a 
man  take  one,  two,  or  to  come  to  the  worst,  say  three  bowls  of  punch, 
without  being  cried  over  as  if  he  were  an  onion-bed,  or  a  mustard-pot? 
There's  nobody  has  any  right  to  question  ;  I  have  nobody 

Patty.    No  one? 

Copse.    No. 

Patty.    And  your  mother,  Thomas— your  old  time-worn  lather? 

Copse.     (Softened.)    Well,  what  of  Ihem  ? 

Patty.  "iChey  have  waited  your  coming  all  night — many  a  weary 
turn  has  your  father  taken  down  yonder  lane,  the  winds  blowing  his 
gray  hairs  about  his  cheeks  ;  a  hundred  times  your  mother  has  crept 
on  tiptoe  to  the  casement,  bending  low  her  ear  to  catch  your  step  ; 
many  a  despairing  look  has  she  cast  at  the  black  sky,  then  moving 
backward  to  the  hearth,  sat  down  and  wept. 

Copse.  (  With  emolion.)  Well,  I  know  it's  wrong — I've  been  wild, 
but  it's  all  over ;  kiss  me,  Patty — you  are  a  good  girl,  and  I'm  re- 
formed to 


FIFTEEN  YEAKS   OF  A.  DftUNKABD'S  LIFE.  11 

Patty.    But  whj'  not  come  home? 

Copse.  That's  it,  you  see  ;  I  couldn't  refuse  staying  for  the  last 
time.  But  to-day  I  shall  go  to  work,  and  never,  never  diiuk  again, 
never!  Only,  you  see,  I  was  a  little  joyful  — I  had  got  a  good  price 
for  the  graiu — all  ready  money,  all  paid  down. 

Fully.  Oh,  that  indeed  is  fortunate,  it  comes  most  timely  ;  and 
you  have  it,  you  say  ? 

Copse.     To  be  sure  I  have—  you  don't  think  I'd  leave  it  behind  me, 
do  you  ?    No,  no,  all  safe  in  my  own  keeping  ;  if  I  did  tipple  a  little 
I  knew  what  I  was  about. 
Pally.     Where  is  it? 

Copse.  AVhere — why  in  ray  pocket,  here!  (He  endeavors  to  put 
his  hand  into  his  pocket  and  discovers  that  it  is  torn  away — he  looks  de- 
spairingly. )     No,  it  is  not !    It  is 

Patty.     Lost  I 

Copse.  (Madly.)  Lost!  no,  hold  thy  tongue— it  can't — it  must 
be  safe — I'd  ut:Vet—( During  this  time  he  is  in  the  greatest  agitation, 
searching  his  person) — Ah  !  you've  got  it,  Patty.  Come,  if  you  think 
to  frighten  me,  you  mistake  —you — yon — (  Tiie  truth  flashes  on  him) — 
Oh,  heaven,  it's  lost !  I  am  a  wretch  indeed ! 
Pally.     Coun)ose  yourself,  dear  brother. 

Copse.  Compose  !  what — and  father,  mother,  you,  beggars?  and  I 
— oh,  fool !  beast !  drunkard  I 

Patty.     Dear  Thomas,  come  into  the  farm. 

Copse.  What !  to  look  on  outcasts  ?  and  I  that  have  ipade  thjbm 
80  ;  never  will  1  cross  its  threshold  again  unless  to  bring  them  com- 
fort. I'll  retrace  my  steps  to  the  inn — if  fortune  favors  me,  I'll  sea 
thee  soon — if  not,  farewell — farewell,  Patty,  and  forever ! 

(  Rushes  off,  B. 

Paiiy.     Farewell,  brother,  forever!    Is  it  so?     (Qoing  u)    And 

father,  mother — lost,  lost,  forever  I  (Eeil  s.e.l. 


Scene  IIL — An  ApartmetU  in  Vebnon's  House.    Same  {as  Scene  I, 
Enler  Glakville  aiul  Alicia,  s.f.b. 

Alicia,     (B.C. )     Ala.s,  sir,  I  fear  to  flatter  myself  with  the  hope. 

Glan.  (L.c. )  Trust  me,  you  look  too  gloomily  upon  tlie  matter ; 
Vernon  will  speedily  be  awakened  to  his  error,  and  become  more 
guarded  from  having  once  erred.     Is  he  at  present  engaged? 

Ali.     I  believe  with  Mr.  Franklin  ;  he  is  a  worthy  man. 

Qlan.  ( SarcasticaUy. )  He  u  blessed  with  your  good  opinion, 
madam. 


12  FIFTEKN   l^CAlES  OF  A  DBUNEABD's  LIFE. 

AIL  Nay,  if  j'on  are  bis  rival  in  love,  at  least  l)e  just  towards  him 
— he  would  uot,  I  aiu  sure,  be  wauting  iu  such  courtesy  to  you. 

Enter  Vernon,  from  louidow,  c 

Ver.  (c. )  Alicia,  I  have  been  a  truant — I  come  in  penitence  to 
ask  forgiveness.     Glauville,  join  with  uie. 

AIL     Join  with  you  !     Oh,  sir,  too  well  you  know  Alicia. 

Ver.  Yen,  for  the  gentlest  and  the  fondest  wile  that  ever  meekly 
bore  with  an  ungrateful  and  a  dissipated  husband. 

AH.  Nay,  Vernon,  I  will  not  buy  your  praise  at  the  cost  of  so 
much  self-reproof.  You  humble  yourself  iu  your  endeavors  to  exalt 
me. 

Ver.  Alicia,  from  this  day  I  am  an  altered  man.  I  now  look  with 
astonishment  and  disgust  at  the  scenes  which  have  of  late  engaged 
nie.  A  tiiveru  life  !  and  with  a  house  like  mine,  where  fortune  has 
profusely  showered  her  dearest  blessings — a  wife,  meelc  as  the  dove, 
and  innocent  as  infiincy — friends  with  true  hearts — books,  nmsic, 
piiinting,  all  the  arts  tiiat  give  a  gnice  to  life  and  mise  man  beyond 
hiniself  -  that  I  should  leave  this  never-tiring  round  of  pure  delights, 
for  tlie  brawl  and  hubbub  of  a  tavein— to  aigue  without  instruction, 
laugh  without  enjoyment,  and  at  length  drown  tlie  reasouiibJe  man 
within  a  wine-cask — oh  !  let  it  pass  away  as  a  hideous  dream,  and  be 
no.more  remembered. 

AIL     Oh  !  happy,  happy  Alicia ! 

( EiHhrace--GtJk.iiTaA.is.  retires  a  little  u 

Enter  Servant,  s.e.b.,  icilh  salver  and  a  card  on  iL 

Sei~v.  Sir  John  Gayly  has  left  his  card,  sir,  and  hopes  that  you 
will  remember  the  appointment  this  evening  at  the  George. 

C  Gives  curd  and  exits,  S.E.R. 

AH.     ( Clings  to  him. )     Vernon! 

Ver.  Sir  John  Gayly  !  by  the  bye,  I  had  forgotten — yes,  it  is  this 
evening ! 

AH.     But  you  will  not  go?    Promise  me. 

Vei:  Certainly  !— and  yet,  as  1  promised,  it  might  appear  disre- 
spectful to  the  baronet — you  know,  my  love,  one  wouldn't  like  that  — 
BO  I  must  go  -  but  this  is  the  lust  time -and  mind,  I'll  take  no  wine 
— uot  a  drop  of  wine— not 

Enter  Servant,  s.e.r,  ici7/t  salves-  and  decanter,  and  one  wine  glass  and 
a  gubiet. 

Ver.  Eh!  what's  this?  Oh  !  I  had  forgotten— my  usual  morning's 
di-aught. 

AIL  You  may  take  it  away,  your  master  will  uot  partiike  of  any 
this  momiug. 


FIFTEEN  YEARS   OF  A   DRUNKARD'S   LIFE.  13 

Fej'.  No,  no,  uever  bring  it  to  me  again.  (Servant //ouigr.  ^  But 
Btop— (Skrvant  stops) — as  it  is  here  now,  I  may  as  well  take  one 
glass  !  (  Drinks. ")  My  love,  this  is  the  first  of  the  last  supply,  is  it 
not?  It  tastes  well,  and  yet — (drinks)  —very  well,  very  well  -give 
me  another!  (About  io  place  tlie  wine  ffluss  on  the  salver,  lets  it par- 
poseh/  drop— the  Servant  is  abotd  io  exit  for  atiother  when  Veknon 
snulches  the  decanter  and  empties  its  contents  into  the  ijoblet. )  This 
will  do.  ( Dritdcs  it  off.)  What  a  recreant  was  I  to  excluini  against 
wine — it's  tlie  true  elixir  after  all.  (Smacks  his  lips. 

AH,  Is  this  your  promise?  Before  yo»r  servant,  too?  f'2'o  Sek- 
vant.)     You  can  go,  Butts.  (Servant  ea:i<s  s.e.e. 

Ver.     'Tis  my  last  sin,  believe  me. 

Ali.     Heaven  grant  it !  but 

Ver.  Bat!  But  what?  Away  with  those  icy  fears  ;  believe  me, 
I  am  now  wholly,  unaltembly  reformed,  ('iea^s  Alicia  o^  s.e.e.) 
"Well,  Glanville,  you  will  join  us  to-night? 

Glan,  (  Goines  doion  l.c.)  No,  no — positively  ;  I  have  some  serious 
ideas  of  reformation  myself. 

Ver,  (R.c. )  But  for  one  evening — hang  it,  man,  only  for  one 
evening. 

Olan.  "Well,  on  one  proviso — that  you  make  no  such  bets  as  j'ou 
were  guilty  of  last  night. 

Ver.     Bets  !— last  night !    My  dear  fellow,  I  remember  no  bets. 

Olan.  What,  you  were  far  gone,  certainly,  but  do  you  not  remem- 
ber how  I  advised,  nay,  implored  you,  to  break  off  the  wager  with  the 
French  Count? 

Ver.  The  French  Count !  I  remember  that  our  host's  wine  was 
excellent— that  the  Count  sang  some  delectable  ckansons-<i-boire — but 
lor  the  bet 

Enter  Servant,  s.e.r.,  showi)ig  in  Clerk. 

Sei'V.     A  gentleman,  sir,  from  Mr.  Bullion,  your  banker. 

( Etil  s.E.r« 

Clerk,  (r.)  I  wait,  sir,  from  our  house,  to  inquire  whether  you 
intend  to  wholly  withdraw  yourself  from  our  books  ? 

Vfv.  (c.)  Certainly  not,  Mr  Bullion  is  one  of  my  best  friends. 
Why  this  question? 

Clerk.  Your  check,  sir,  was  presented  this  morning  for  the  whole 
amount  of  the  cash  banked  with  us. 

Ver.     My  check  !    Impossible  ! 

Clei'k.     Here,  sir. 

(Shows  the  check,     "Vernon  gazes  at  ii  with  hoiror  and  aslo)Uih- 
ment. 

Ver.     Some  fiend — some  devil  has  been  at  work — some  jug^de 

Glan.  (Aside,  i..)  Be  composed— 'tis  the  check  you  givve  the 
Count. 


14  utteem  xeabs  of  a  dbunjuhs's  lifk. 


Vh'.  Impossible !  Some  cheat — some  trick — let  me  remember — 
last  uigbt.  (Veknon  slands  inukhig  an  apparent  {ff'ort  Ic  recoiled  the 
events  of  the  last  evening — incolierenily. )  No,  uo,  uo,  I  couuot  grasp 
a  siugle  circumstauce. 

Qkm.     (Aside  to  him.)    Be  calm  !    You  betray  yourself. 

Cleik.     What  auswer,  sir,  shall  I  take  back  ? 

Ver.  Say  that  I  am  a  wretch— a  beggar— a — ( Recollecting  himself 
and  with  an  effort.)  No,  uo— I  will  wait  on  Mr.  JiuUioii — will  ex- 
plain all — there  is  an  error- 'tis  but  a  trifle— a — oh  !  I  shall  go  mad  ! 
(Exit  Clekk,  k.  )  Glanville !  I'll  have  revenge.  Where  is  this  count  ? 
Where  is  the  villain  who  has  practised  on  my  indiscretions?  Indis- 
cretions !  Oh,  drunkenness !  thou  smiliug  demon,  that  raises  ns  firom 
out  ourselves  to  sink  us  'neath  the  worm  !    But  the  count 

Qlan.  Know  you  not  that  he  was  to  leave  England  this  morning? 
The  vessel  was  in  the  harbor— and  see — (Goes  towards  window  c.) — 
see  where  she  sails. 

Ver,     (  Distractedly. )     lly  curses  sink  her  ! 

Olan.     This  is  weakness  ;  what,  to  rave  thus  for  a  few  thousaudfl  ! 

Ver.  Thousands  !  Do  not  my  creditors  get  every  daj'  more  clam- 
orous? Am  I  not  dunned,  hunted,  and  all  through  this  infernal  vice  ; 
but  'tis  past — now,  indeed,  I  am  an  altered  man. 

Entei'  Sebvant,  s.kb.,  with  several  papers  on  a  silver  salver. 

Ver.    Well,  sir,  what  have  you  there  1 

(Seru.  Bills,  sir  ;  this,  sir,  from  your  wine  merchant,  this  from  the 
goldsmith — from  the  jeweler — :this  from 

Ver.  Villain !  do  you  come  to  torment  me  ?  Give  them  to  my 
steward. 

Serv.    He  has  left  the  house,  sir. 

Ver.     Left ! 

Serv.  And  bade  me  return  you  the  keys,  and  with  them  this  let- 
ter. 

Ver.  'Tis  well — give  the  bills  to  me.  Hence  1  (Exit  Sebvant, 
S.E.B.  Reads  the  teller.)  "Respected  sir:  I  have  warned  j-ou,  but 
you  listened  not.  I  could  not  stay  to  witness  the  wreck  that  must 
take  place  ;  my  accounts  will  be  found  correct.  Accept  my  prayers." 
Smooth-tongued  villain  !  to  leave  nie,  and  at  such  a  time,  Glanville, 
what's  to  be  done  ?     Some  bold  stroke,  or  my  credit's  gone. 

Glan.     You  have  yet  your  wife's  estate  ;  tliis  house 

Ver.  This  house !  it  was  my  ancestors' — my  noble  ancestors — who 
in  the  senate  and  the  field  covered  themselves  with  glory — who  have 
for  four  centuries  past  heaped  honor  on  the  name  of  Vernon — making 
it  as  rich  and  brilliant  as  a  diadem— to  be  worn  by  whom?  A  betist, 
a  drunkard  ;  a  wretch  who  drowns  his  reason  in  the  goblet,  and  only 
lives  when  he  disgraces  life.  This  house! — part  with  it?  Impossi- 
ble! 


FIFTEEN   XEABS   OF   A.' DUUNKAltu's  LIFE.  15 

Olan.  I  said  not  part  with  it — j'et  money  may  be  raised.  Was  not 
Pouuce  here  this  morning? 

Ver.     He  is  now  iu  the  libraiy. 

Glan.     He  is  secret  and  persevering — why  not  trust  him  ? 

Ver.  I  will ;  all  may  yet  be  regained— all,  if  the  world  be  kept  in 
iguontuce.  Glauville,  excuse  me  to  the  bayonet ;  to-night  I'll  stay  at 
home. 

Olan.     Why  not  have  the  party  here? 

Ver.     Here ! 

Olan.  Aye !  The  aflfair  at  your  banker's  may  be  whispered — a 
little  fete  now,  would  give  the  falsehood  to  any  ugly  rumor.  You  un- 
derstand ? 

Ver.    It  would  SQ  ;  but  there  is  no  time. 

Olan.  I  have  it !  Mrs.  Loverout  gives  a  masquerade  to-night  I 
know  she  wjU,  at  my  solicitations,  bring  the  masquers  here ;  a  few 
lamps  can  so  be  put  in  the  orangery,  and  then 

Ver.     As  you  will !     I  feel  a  burning  thirst. 

Olan.     Come,  shall  I  prescribe  for  you?    Wine ! 

Ver.  Aye!  Wine !  wine  !  There  is  some  demon  in  my  heart  that 
leaps  at  the  sound !  Words  are  vain !  Euin  may  preach,  but  'tis 
beard  not ;  the  monster's  up — and  wine,  wine  alone  can  satisfy  it 

(Exem^  &E.B. 


Scene  IV. — A  Evnt  Wood. 


Enter  Fbanklin  and  Miss  Vebnon,  t, 

Franklin,     (b.)    The  infatuation  every  day  grows  stronger  on  him. 
Miss  Vernon,     (l.  )     My  poor  brother,  and  his  unhappy  wife  I 
Frank.     Can  you  theu  hesitate  at  withdrawing  yourself  from  a 

house  where  you  are  compelled  to  witness  scenes  of  violence,  and,  I 

may  add,  guilt? 
Miss  V.     Be  assured,  Franklin,  that  in  remaining  with  my  brother 

I  have  no  other  view  than  a  hope  of  re-awakening  him  to  a  sense  of 

his  indiscretions.     Grant  me  a  short  time  longer,  and  then  whatever 

may  be  the  result  of  my  endeavors,  I  am  yours. 

Frank.     For  me,  content  with  such  a  promise,  be  mistress  of  your 

time.     I  will,  with  you,  strive  to  work  the  preservation  of  Vernon, 

though,  from  what  I  have  lately  witnessed,  1  am  not  sanguine  iu  my 

expectations. 

Copse.    (Singing  without,  l.)    "And  believe  me  there's  nothing 

like  grog." 


16  PIFTJSiCN   YEAKS   OF  A   DHUNKAHD'S   LfFE. 


Frank.  Come,  I  will  see  you  to  the  honse,  and  then  return  on  my 
missiou. 

Miss  V.  I  will  not  detain  yon,  (crosses  <o  B. )  'tis  but  a  short  way 
— in  cue  hour  I  shall  expect  you.  (Bk'd  b. 

Enter  Copsewood,  singing,  l. 

•'I've  been  drinking,  I've  been  drinkiug, 
,  Where  were  wine  and  brandy  good  ; 

And  I'm  thinking,  and  I'm  thiuking. 
How  to  get  out  of  this  wood." 

Frank,  (b.)  What,  Master  Copsewood,  are  you  not  ashamed  of 
yourself? 

Copse,  (i,.)     Ashamed!    What  for?    Haven't  I  been  drinkiug? 

Isn't  that  all  correct,  eh?  (Sings.)  "  If  you  doubt  what  I  say,  take 
a  bumper  and  try." 

Frank.  But  hear  me. 

Copse.  (Sings.)     "A  bumper!" 

Frank.  One  word 

Copse.  (Sings.)     "A  bumper!" 

F-ank.  Are  you  mad  ? 

Copse.  ( Sings. )     •'  Take  a  bumper  and  try  F 

Frank.  How  is  it  that  I  see  you  thus? 

Copse,  How  is  it?     Why,  I'll  tell  you.  (Sings. 

"This  momiug  very  earl5'. 
My  malady  was  such, 
I  in  my  tea  took  brandy, 
And  took  a  drop  too  much." 

Frank.     Coine,  let  me  advise  yon  to  go  home. 

Copse.  Go  home  !  pho  !  (Sings.)  "Go  to  the  Barley-Mow — go 
to  the  Barley-Mow." 

Frank.  An  honest,  industrious  fellow  like  you  to  make  j'ourself  a 
mere  receptacle  for  drink. 

Copse.  Receptacle!  (Sing.^.)  "And  so  out  of  Toby  they  made 
this  brown  jug."  I'm  now  in  the  best  of  all  humors— 1  only  want  a 
friend  and  a  bottle.  Ah  !  they  may  talk  of  their  Greek  and  their 
Latin  gibberish,  and  all  that — but  there's  a  seutimeut  for  you,  there's 
a  plain  English  seutimeut.  f  Sings. )  "May  we  ne'er  want  a  friend 
or  a  bottle  to  give  him."  Oh,  I've  been  getting  tipsy  like  a  gentle- 
man ;  what  do  you  think  I've  been  drinking? 

F-ank.  What !  Why,  if  you  nnist  drink,  what  an  honest  yeoman 
life  yourself  ought  to  partake  of — good  Sir  John  Barleycorn. 

Cop.-ie.  Beer !  once  it  was  delightful,  but  now,  my  genteel  com- 
pany forbids  it. 

F\'unk.    Indaed ! 


FIFTEEN  YEAKS   OF   A  DBUNKAED's   LIFE.  17 


Copse.     (Sings.) — 

"Oh,  no !  we  never  mention  it, 

Its  foud  uame  never  drops, 
My  lips  are  now  forbid  to  taste 

A  draiiglit  of  malt  and  hops  ; 
From  wine  to  wiue  I've  hurried, 

Till  I've  drained  each  bottle  out ; 
But  ask  me  not  if  e'er  I  tipple 

Half-and-half,  or  stout" 

Frank.    Well,  now  let  nie  advise  you  to  go  home. 

Copse.     I  will,  because  I  know  sister  expects  me. 

Frank.  Ah,  the  pretty  Patty  ;  she's  a  charming  girl — good-natured, 
lively,  innocent  and  unaffected. 

Copse.  Ah,  that's  all  true  ;  but,  bless  you,  you've  left  out  the  first 
and  best  of  all  her  virtues. 

Frank.     And  what's  that? 

Copse.     She  makes  punch  like  an  angel. 

Frank.  Well,  farewell,  friend ;  and  take  this  brief  but  sincere 
warning — reform,  reform,  and  live  soberly.  (Exit  r. 

Copse.  So  1  will — that  I'm  determined.  (  Takes  flask  out  of  his 
pocket  and  drinks.  )  So  I  will !  sobriety  is  good  in  its  way,  and  I'm 
determined  to  patronize  it. 

Enter  Bailiff,  l. 

Bailiff.     Wliat,  Master  Copsewood,  and  tipsy  ! 

Copse.  Well,  what's  that  to  you?  A  man  has  no  right  to  take  out 
a  license  for  drinking  liquor  if  he  has  to  sell  it.     Wljut  is  it  to  you? 

Bailiff.  Oh,  nothing  !  (  Grosses  to  k.  )  Only  I  hope  you  are  ready 
for  to-morrow  ;  you  know  tlie  day  of  the  month,  I  suppose — not  an 
hour  will  be  given  you,  and  this  I  tell  you  in  friendship.         ( Erit  k. 

Copse.  To-uiorrow  !  Oli,  the  thoughts  are  coming  upon  me  like 
flashes  of  fire  !  To-morrow  the  reut't  due,  and  1 — that  money — lost 
— and  instead  of  seeking  it — I  must  go  to  yonder  iim,  and — father, 
mother,  sister,  all  turned  out,  houseless  beggars  — and  I — I  the  cause. 
Eh!  who's  that  in  yonder  lane?  (Looks  off,  Im)  'Tis  Squire  Bul- 
lion's clerk — and  what — he's  counting  notes — ann  now  he  takes  out  a 
bag— gold,  bnglit,  glitternig  gold!  My  father,  mother — are  you  to 
starve — to— no— tliis.  tliis  will  arm  me  for  anything.  (  Takes  out 
flask  a)id  drinks  off  contents. )  Now,  now  I  feel  the  robber  strong 
within  me,  and  come  what  will,  the  gold  is  mine.  (Exit  l. 


18  FirXEEN  YKAES   OF   A   UUUKKABD's  IOFE. 


Scene  V. — An  Elegant  Apartment  ichich  opens  into  the  Orangery  in 
centre,  illuminated  with  lamps.  The  apartment  JUled  up  as  for  a  gala. 
A  table  with  icine,  &c. 

Vebnon,  GiiANViLLB  Olid  Company  discowred  sitting  b.  (aU  in  dom- 
inos)  drinking.     Sei-vants  loaitin^. 

All,     Ha,  ha,  ha !    Excellent !  a  wit — a  wit ! 

Ver.  (Greatly  exhilarated.)  No,  no,  gentlemen,  you  flatter;  I'm 
naturally ^a  dull  fellow,  but  wine,  glorious  wine  will  act  as  the  steel 
to  my  flinty  sense,  and  sometimes  strike  out  a  bright  spark  or  bo.'^ 

Glan.     I'm  tired  of  wine— some  brandy. 

One  of  the  company.     And  water. 

Ver,     Water  !  he's  a  Geutoo  who  says  water,  and  shall  live  upon  it. 

One  of  the  company.  Come,  come,  brandy  married  to  an  equal 
quantity  of  water  is  not  so  base  either. 

Ver.  Married  !  no,  give  it  to  me  in  its  single  state  ;  though  if  I 
were  made  Doge  of  Venice,  instead  of  wedding  the  oceaa.  faith,  I'd 
drop  a  ring  into  a  barrel  of  eau-de-vie. 

Olan.     Then  brandy  and  water  is  to  be  lawful  ? 

Ver.  Aye,  but  let  it  be  made  according  to  the  true  Sbaksperian 
precept. 

Olan.     The  Sbaksperian  precept — how  is  that? 

Ver.  Why,  as  for  the  brandy,  "nothing  extenuate" — and  the 
water,  put  nought  in,  in  malice.  (Music  strikes  up  loithout.)  Our 
visitors !    Come,  gentlemen,  mask — mask.      (  They  mask  themselves. 

Enter  Masqiieraders  through  c.  A  dance — after  the  dance  Alicia  and 
Miss  Vebnon,  who  are  dressed  in  character  dresses,  single  out  Veb- 
non. 

Ver.  (Between  them. )  Well,  ladies,  what  Avould  you  with  a  poor 
unknown?  You  have  fairly  hunted  me  through  the  room.  Come, 
have  I  made  a  conquest  ?    Your  name  ? 

Miss  V.     Prudence. 

Ver.     A  pretty  name  for  a  masquerade.     (Lauglis.)     Andj'ours? 

AU.     Temperance.  (All  laugh. 

Ver.  (Laughs. )  A  saint  couldn't  refrain  from  laughing  at  such 
pretty  names !  Oh,  sisters  !  Prudence  and  Tempenxnce — well,  my 
fair  ladies,  these  are  virtues  I  have  been  between  all  my  life,  but 
could  never  yet  come  over  to  either  of  them.     Adieu  ! 

(Vkbnon  is  retiring  when  four  masks,  two  as  hermits  and  two  as 
bravoes,  suirowui  him. 

Ver.  Eh  !  what,  between  robbery  and  peace-making.  Well,  gen- 
tlemen, which  side  is  to  have  me  ? 

All.    Both !       (  They  Ikroio  off  their  masks  and  discover  themselves. 


FIFTEBN  X£i£S  OF  A  DBUMKASO'S  llSEt  Ij^ 

Ver.    Bailiffs ! 

AIL     Husbiind ! 

Miss  V.     Brother  ! 

Ver.     'Tis  a  masquerading  trick. 

Bail.    Nay,  uay  ;  you  do  not  so  avoid  as, 

Ver.     Villains,  let  me  pass  i 

fHe  is  running  up  the  stage  when  two  more  bailiffs  present  them- 
selves with  pistols  al  c.  door.  A  shout  of  "Stop  thief!"  is 
set  up. 

COPSEWOOD  rushes  down  through  o.  door,  pursued  hy  Rustics  and  Clebe, 
who  seize  him  on  his  fences,  I1.0. 

Copse.    Save  me  !  Save  me ! 

(He  throws  the  bag  (f  gold  to  the  Glebe,  and  falls  at  his  feet,  in 
attUude  of  entreaty.    Picture. 

Bailiffs.        Bailiffs.    Sustios. 


,  Masquers.  Masques. 

END  or  ACT  I. 

A  lapse  of  five  years  bettoeen  the  first  and  second  acts. 


ACT  n. 

Scene  I. — A  Plain  Chamber.     Centre  door.    Plain  furniture. 

Enter  Doobose,  l. 

Dogrose.  Well,  I've  bad  news  for  my  poor  mistress — poor  lady— 
here  she  sits,  day  after  day,  painting  and  p.iiutiiig,  whilst  her  hus- 
band, the  lost  Mr.  Vernon,  squanders  the  little  gathered  from  the 
'wreck  of  his  late  fortune,  in  riot  and  intoxication. 


3d  FIFXE£N  TEABS  OF  A  DBUMKARD'b  LtFE, 

Enter  Alicia,  b. 

AIL  Now,  luy  kind  frieud — servant  no  longer — Lave  you  brought 
back  any  ordei-s? 

Dog.  Alas !  madam — I  took  home  the  drawings — and  here,  here  is 
the  payment — (Gives  purse) — but  I  can  hardly  find  courage  to  tell 
you,  they  desired  me  to  inform  you,  that 

AIL     Speak  ! 

Dog.     That  no  more  will  be  wanted  for  some  time. 

AIL     Then  are  we  desolate,  indeed !    Oh,  Vernon 

Dog.     Ah  !  lady,  a  foolish,  indolent,  profligate 

AIL     He  is  my  husband — he  was  yoxir  master ! 

Dog.     Indeed,  lady,  I  meant  no  harm.  (Knocking  wiUiavi,  c. 

AIL  Hush!  'tis  he — begone,  good  fellow.  (Exit  Dogbose,  c.) 
He's  here.  (Sits  at  easel,  B. 

Enter  Vebnon,  c,  his  appearance  is  gloomy  and  haggard,  he  looks  sul- 
lenly at  DoGEOSK,  who  goe:-  off.     Veunon  takes  a  chair  and  sits  l. 

Vei:     (L.)     So!     What  does  that  menial  here?    Why  am  I  to  be 

continually  reminded,  by  his  presence,  of  the  fortnue  lost 

AIL     (b.)     B}' your  own  intemperance. 

Still  more  complaints.     For  these  five  years  past,  I  have 


Yon  have  borne  !  ungrateful  man. 
What!  more  reproaches? 

Nay,  I  will  give  utterance  to  my  anguish.  Yon  have  borne 
— and  what  have  I  endured — endured  without  a  murnuir?  For  your 
charge  is  false,  as  it  is  unfeeling — was  I  not,  alike  with  you,  nursed 
in  the  soft  lap  of  luxury  ?  Have  I  not  seen  our  domains,  your  ances- 
tral halls,  melt  and  fade  away  like  a  vain  pageant  of  ice?  Have  I  not 
Been  you  sink,  day  by  day,  from  the  most  exalted  station,  almost  to 
the  wretched  footing  of  the  outcast?  Have  1  not  seen  your  intellect 
obscured,  your  temper  broken,  by  that  base  infatuation  which  my 
heart  sickens  to  think  upon,  and  my  li[)8  refuse  to  name? 

Ver.  Granted  that  you  have,  you  have  still  the  satisfaction  of  j'onr 
sex — to  talk  of  it.  If  I  am  grown  so  hideous,  pray,  madam,  do  not 
longer  violate  the  delicacy  of  your  feelings,  but  leave  me. 

AIL  Leave  you  !  no  !  though  you  have  banished  relations,  friends 
from  me — though  you  have  dniwn  the  loud  contempt  of  the  world 
upon  your  wretched  head  —though  you  are  a  mark  for  the  good  to 
grieve  at,  and  the  vain  to  scoff — though  abuse  and  contumely  bo 
leveled  f.t  you,  still,  still  I  must  be  witli  you — the  name  of  husband 
is  not  lost,  though  it  be  coupled  with  the  opprobrious  term  of 

Ver.  Drunkard !  end  your  sentence,  madam,  'tis  your  meaning. 
But  'tis  not  my  vices,  as  you  term  them — 'tis  my  narrow  means  that 
offend  you.  'Tis  not  the  loss  of  my  good  name,  as  you  most  delicate- 
ly infer— but  the  absence  of  silks,  feathers,  and  of  diamonds ! — 'tis 
this  food  your  vanity  craves  after. 


FIFTEEN  TEARS   OF  A  DUUNKABD's   LIFE.  ^ 

AIL  This  food !  Vernoa,  do  you  believe  that  only  vanity  Las 
banger?  That  only  the  empty  pride  of  dress  can  feel  au  appetite? 
Are  there  no  other  wants  ? 

Ver.     What  mean  yon  ?    Do  j'ou  hear  me  ?    Spesak  I 

AU.  This  is  the  first  time  you  have  crossed  the  threshold  since 
yesterday,  when  you  dined ! 

Ver.     Why  remind  me  of  that? 

AU.  Know  you  how  that  dinner  was  procured? — by  what  witchery 
the  money  was  obtained? — for  'tis  long  since  you  have  given  me  any. 

Ver.  How  it  was  procured !  How  ?  By  heavens !  consuming 
thoughts  and  maddening  fears  throng  upon  my  brain,  and  press  it 
into  madness.  That  money  ! — how  procured  ?  Speak  !  satisfy  me, 
or  by  hell,  I'll  read  the  historj' 

AU.     Read  it  here.  (Holds  her  hand  io  him. 

Ver.     Ha  !  your  ring  ! 

AU.  You  see,  'tis  gone.  It  bought  your  dinner — it  bought  your 
wine— that  ring,  which,  in  the  sweet  promise  of  youth,  in  the  day- 
spring  of  our  mutual  love — was  fixed  upon  my  hand  by  the  noble, 
generous  Vernon,  the  good  man,  and  the  gentleman,  was  wrested 
from  its  sacred  place  to  purchase  mad  forgettuluess — intoxication  for 
Vernon,  the  degarded,  selfish  drunkard ! 

Ver.  And  was  wine  purchased  from  such  a  source,  and  did  it  not 
turn  to  poison?  Oh,  this  sacrifice  is  too  much.  Alicia,  dear  Alicia, 
yes,  I  see  it  in  your  pale  cheek  and  drooping  lip — your  eyes ! — thoso 
eyes  which  I  have  worshipped  as  the  glorious  sun — all  reveal  your 
constancy  and  my  disgrace.  You,  you — I  cannot  speak  the  words — 
have  wanted  foo<l,  whilst  I 

AU.  No — no— do  not  think  so — besides,  all  is  past  now  ;  you  will 
stay  at  home  to-day  ? 

Ver.     Stay — here  let  me  be  fixed  the  statue  of  remorse. 

(Is  about  to  kneeL 

AIL     Ah !  all,  all  is  pardoned,  all  forgotten. 

(  They  embrace—  the  purse  falls  from  Alicia's  dress, 
.  Ver.  ( Taking  it  up. )  Ha  !  (  With  mingled  feeling  of  sorrow  and 
contempt. )     Oh  I  Alicia,  is  it  so  ? 

AU.     Stay,  I  can  explain  all. 

Ver.  Not  a  word— 'tis  all  explained.  The  wife  would  reclaim  the 
truant  husband  ;  and  with  a  subtle  story  lure  him  back  again  to 
home  and  obedience.     You  had  no  money?     (Going  c.)     Farewell! 

AU.  ( Holding  him. )  Vernon,  in  mercy,  stay  !  where  would  you — 
answer — oh,  I  see — the  tavern — the  tavern. 

Ver.  No  matter !  be  silent  What !  tears — 'tis  well — you  are  pro- 
ficient in  your  craft. 

AIL     On  my  knees !    Vernon ! 

Ver.     Hence,  hypocrite! 

(Vebnon  throws  her  from  him  and  exits  c. — she  falls  and  scene 
closes. 


22  nFT£EK  ZEAB8  OF  i.  DB0NSABD  8  UTE. 

Scene  II. — A  Front  Wood. 
Enter  Glakvtlie  mid  Copsewood, 'l. 

Olan.     (R.)    Have  you  any  recommendation  as  to  character  ? 

Copse.  (L. )  Why;  as  for  that,  sir,  I'm  rather  stninge  about  these 
parts,  and  as  I  didn't  think  of  character  in  my  own  village — I — you 
see,  sir — I  haven't  got  anything  written  about  lue. 

Olan.     Well,  perhaps  you  could  obtain  the  requisite  document  ? 

Copse.  Why,  sir,  I  don't  know,  people  lately  grow  very  nice  about 
speaking  a  good  word  for  me  ;  when  I  was  a  youngster,  the  M'hole 
village  would  have  put  their  hands  to  a  recommendation  ;  but  some- 
how or  other,  the  older  I  grow,  the  more  folks  think  I  can  recoumiend 
myself. 

Olan.    Have  you  been  brought  up  to  service  ? 

Copse.  No  ;  I  hiid  once  a  farm  of  my  own  ;  that  is,  I  managed  it 
for  father  and  mother ;  but  they  are  dead,  and  then  my  sister 

Olan.     Is  she  dead  too  ? 

Copse.     Aye  !  I  am  glad  to  say. 

Ola7i.     A  most  brotherly  gladness. 

Copse.  It  is,  and  you  knew  all.  Everything  went  wrong.  I  went 
■wrong  too  ;  and  there  was  a  fine  gentleman — a  villain  ! — ^he  professed 
to  serve  us,  and,  in  short,  he  poisoned  the  mind  of  Patty. 

Olan.     What !  Copsewood  ! 

Copse.  Aye — why  you  know  the — (looks  Ttard  into  Oukirviujs's 
face) — what !  thou  art  the  villain  ! 

Olan.     No ! 

Copse.  Thou  liest !  the  blood  rtms  from  thy  cheeks,  and  thy  lips 
quiver ! — now  feel  a  brother's  vengeance  ! 

(He  grapples  with  Gi-ANViiiLE,  throws  him  round  inio  i*.  corner, 
and  is  about  to  strike  him  with  his  cudgel. 

Enter  Fbanklin, /rom  l.,  and  goes  between  them. 

Frank,     (c. )    Kise,  sir.     (Recognizing  him. )    Glanville ! 

G'/a7i.  (L.)  Franklin!  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  this  courtesy — for 
yonder  ruflSan,  the  law  shall  find  security.  (JEkii  i* 

Frank.    Is  it  not  Copsewood? 

Cffpse.  (Abashed,  b.  )  Sir,  you  may  remember  things  which  would 
make  me  deny  my  name,  but 

Frank.  Penitence  may  have  done  much.  You  have,  I  hope,  re- 
formed. 

Copse.  Why,  sir,  it  must  have  been  some  fury  that  tempted  me  to 
snatch  that  bag  ;  I  got  off  from  that,  thanks  to  your  kindness  ;  and 
now 

Fraiik.  You  have  added,  I  hope,  sobriety  to  your  good  qualifica- 
tions. 


FIFTEEN  YEARS   OF  A  DBUNKABD's  UFE.  28 

Copse.    I'll  try,  sir ;  but  if  the  truth  must  be  told  I  make  but  slow 
progress. 

Frank.     But  why  thus  assault  Mr.  Glanville? 
Copse.     Why  !    Yet  I'm  glad  yoix  came  betwixt  us,  or  I  had  shed 
his  blood.     My  sister,  my  poor  sister,  'twas  he  who  murdered  her  ! 
Frank.     He  !    You  surely  speak  from  surmise,  you  have  uo  proof? 
Copse.     Why,  uot  what  the  law  calls  murder  ;  but  there  are  many 
villaius  walking  abroad  worthy  of  halters,  upon  whom  the  law,  tight 
and  shrewd  though  it  be,  cannot  fix  them. 
Frank.     How  know  yon  of  her  death  ? 

Copse.  I'll  tell  you,  sir,  if  I  can,  though  to  my  own  shame.  When 
I  took  to  visiting  inns,  and  such  places,  the  farm  went  to  wreck — 
father  and  mother  died — sister  Patty  was  lured  away — my  good  name 
was  gone.  I  tried  at  every  place  to  get  work,  but  couldn't— I  was  a 
beggar  and  a  vagrant  for  four  long  yeni-s.  I  went  to  London,  aud 
there,  for  want  of  better  employment,  1  worked  at — it  is  an  ugly 
word — ;ui  undertaker's.  Well,  sir,  one  night  the  chinch  wardens 
came  and  told  me  to  follow  them.  I  did  so.  They  siiid  a  poor  girl, 
tmknown  aud  unattended,  had  just  gone  from  this  world.  We  came 
to  the  place — I  entered  a  loathsome  hut  —a  den  of  dirt  and  misery — 
aud  in  one  corner,  thrown  aside,  as  in  the  very  coldness  of  contempt, 
lay  the  body.  I  took  a  light  and  bent  myself  towards  the  corpse — 
I  snatched  the  coverlet  aside,  and  there— oh !  my  biii-stiug  heart — 
la}'  my  sister !  m}'  poor  sister !  I  gasped  for  breath,  and  my  knees 
sunk  under  me  beside  her  ;  ah !  how  changed — her  meek  eyes,  her 
sweet  lips,  her  snow  like  skin — in  every  feature,  in  ever}'  liue,  was 
.writ  the  story  of  a  broken  heart;  her  very  locks — sir,  she  was  uot 
seventeen,  yet  there  Mere  gray  hairs  upon  her! 
Frank.     Unhappy  girl ! 

Copse.  1  took  one  kiss  from  her  cold  mouth,  aud  pressing  her  thia 
and  withered  hand,  I  swore,  silently  yet  deepl}',  an  oath  of  vengeance 
on  her  destroyer — you,  sir,  saw  Glanville  in  the  dust.  Now  wonder 
you  that  his  blood  is  not  trickling  at  my  feet  ? 

Frank.  How  did  you  first  encounter  him  ?  He  has  not  long  ar- 
rived here. 

Copse.     So  I  heard,  though  I  was  not  told  his  name  ;  I  applied  to 
him — ('tis  bitter  now  to  think  ou't) — for  employment,  as  his  servant, 
— /tis  servant!    Curses! 
Frank.    Come  with  me — be  trusty,  aad  you  shall  not  need  a  friend. 

(  Crosses  lo  B. 
Copse.     Heaven  bless  you. 
Frank.    But  njiud,  you  must  observe  sobriety — why,  you  hesitate — 

do  you  hear,  you  must  observe 

Copse.    Yes,  sir — yes—rU  U-y,  sir.  (EiKu.nl,  b. 


81  nXTEEM  TEAKS  OF  A.  DBXTKKABD's  USE. 


ScEKE  III. — The  Interior  of  Fbankun's  House.  Genire  dooi-  cham- 
ber, backed  by  interior.  Tables  b.  and  l.  Cliairs  with  coveis  over 
them. 

•  EtUer  DooBosE,  b. 

Dog.  Well,  it's  lucky  that  Mr.  Franklin  having  married  Mr. 
Vernon's  sister,  I  was  promoted  to  be  his  butler,  and  thus  am  enabled 
to  assist  poor  Madam  Alicia — for  her  husband  and  Mr.  Frauklm  must 
ever,  I  fear,  be  foes. 

Ent^  JUNIPEB,  o. 

Dog.  Oh,  here  comes  my  humble  friend.  Well,  Master  Juniper, 
I  suppose  having  recruited  yourself  in  the  pantry,  you  are  now  ready 
to  ti-avel? 

Jan.     (L,. )     Why,  only  another  glass. 

Dog.  (R.)  Well,  you  shall  have  it,  and  then  you  must  go  awaj' — 
for  the  truth  is,  my  master  has  no  relish  for  visitors  of  your  order. 

Jtin.     Of  my  order  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? 

Dog.  Yes,  of  your  order !  You  know  there  were  some  odd  tales 
about  you  in  the  \illiige 

Jan.  Aye,  but  that's  five  yeare  ago — do  you  think  a  bad  character 
will  wear  forever? 

Dog.  Why — like  a  bad  coat,  it's  according  to  the  care  that's  taken 
of  it — but  perhaps  you  have  thrown  it  off  altogether? 

Jan.     Why,  if  not  that,  I've  patched  it  with  discretion  ;  bless  you, 
there's  many  a  knave  by  such  a  kind  of  tailoring  makes  his  reputation . 
pass  for  us  good  as  new. 

Dog.  Aye,  or  when  it's  worn  out  on  one  side,  by  turning  it.  But 
you  know  you  were  accused  of,  of — I  forget  exactly. 

Jun.  Yes,  j'es  !  (Aside.)  For  further  particulars,  see  the  New- 
gate Calendar !  (Aloud.)  Never  mind  all  that — it  was  in  my  tender 
years,  j'ou  know. 

Dog.    Eh,  who's  this?    ( Orosses  and  looks  off  Jm)    Step  aside. 

Juji.    I'm  off.  (EeU  b. 

Enter  Fbansun  and  Copsewood,  l. 

Frank.  Here,  Dogrose,  is  an  old  acquaintance — make  him  wel- 
come.    To-morrow,  Copsewood,  let  me  see  you  early.  (  Exit  u 

Dog.     (B. )    Well,  Master  Copsewood,  and  how  has  the  world  slid  ? 

Copse.  (L.)  Ill  enough.  But  why  keep  such  a  distance?  Are 
we  not  friends? 

Dog.     Why • 

Copse.  Aye,  I  see  it  ;  come,  I'll  not  be  nice  with  the  matter — I  see 
your  thoughts,  man  !  that  bag  of  gold,  eh — (Dogbose  nods) — ah  ! — 
well,  it  was  a  foolish  affair ;  but  I  paid  for  it — deeply,  deeply  paid  for 
it — character  lost — father,  mother 


FIFTEEN  YEABS  OF  A  DBUMEABD's  LIFE.  25 

Dog.  Well,  here's  my  hand.  I'm  not  one  of  those  squeamish  peo- 
ple, who  having  but  little  honesty  themselves,  make  up  for  the  want 
by  their  uncharitable  suspicions  of  others  ;  it  is  not  because  a  young 
horse  once  stumbles,  that  he  is  always  to  be  upon  his  knees — and  so, 
again.  Master  Copsewood,  here's  my  haiid. 

Gopse.  Thou  art  a  worthy"  fellow— a  worthy  fellow.  Come,  hast 
thou  not  a  glass  ?  one  glass — as  I'm  an  houest  man,  I  have  had  but 
but  four  to-day — only  four,  and  that,  you  know,  for  a  man  of  my  ex- 
perience  

Dog.     Well,  we'll  have  a  glass.  (Exit  u. 

Re-enie)'  Jdkiper,  b. 

Jun.  And  here's  one  that  will  join  you — who'd  have  thought  of 
seeing  you,  Master  Copsewood.  Come,  we  can  make  a  night  of  it 
Here,  let  me  assist  you. 

Re-enter  Doorose,  l.,  bringing  on  bottle,  glasses,  &c.  Copsewood 
takes  flask  from  his  bosom,  and  fills  it  out  of  the  bottle.  2'key  seat 
themselves. 

Dog.  (Sealed  c.)  feut  one  word,  my  gentle  visitors,  this  must  be 
what  we  call  in  genteel  society,  a  select  party. 

Jun.     (  Seated  B. )     Oh,  of  course  ! 

Dog.     No  intemperance. 

Oopse.     (Seated  u )     Oh,  of  course  ! 

Dog.     No  drinking  till  we  don't  know  what  we  are  about. 

Jun.     Oh,  of  course ! 

Copse.  Of  course  !  'Twould  be  a  breach  of  hospitality.  I'll  thank 
you  for  the  spirits.  (Drinks.)  The  man  in  the  moon  if  he  tipp'es 
need  not  drink  better  brandy  than  this. 

(During  the  foregoing,  Copsewood  and  Jdkipek  have  been  help- 
ing themselves  most  profusely,  and  are  far  uduaneed  in  intoxi- 
Ciition. 

Jun.     Now,  I  say  my  master,  what  do  you  think  of  one  bumper? 

Dog.     No,  no,  I  forbid  it — no  bumpers. 

Copse.  No,  no  bumpers.  That's  such  a  common  road  to  drunken- 
ness ;  now  I've  a  short  cut  of  my  own,  there's  no  room  for  genius  in 
the  regularity  of  bumper — but  we'll  just,  if  you  like,  take  one  glass 
more  together. 

Dog.  No,  no — my  head  is  not  used  to  it,  and  it's  turning  round 
already. 

Gopse.  Turning  round,  is  it?  There's  nothing  like  stopping  it 
Avith  a  dead  weight — here,  my  boy.  (Filling  for  him.J  Come,  the 
other  glass. 

Dog.  Ah  !  the  other  glass — what.  Master  Copsewood,  where  would 
you  have  been  by  this  time  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  crj'  ? 

Copse.  You'ro  right ;  right  and  now  I  know  you're  in  the  fair  road 
for  intoxication,  because  you're  getting  sentimental — the  other  glasses 


tt  FIFTEEN  TEABS  OF  A   DBTTNSABD's  LIFE. 

—oil,  tliftt  other  glass  is  tbe  devil — the  other  glass,  and  no  more — it's 
never  found  ;  lor  I've  been  drinking  bard  lor  it  iiud  looking  for  it  for 
the  last  seven  yenrs,  luid  bang  me  if  the  other  glass  has  ever  yet  come 
to  liaud— never— and  when  1  die,  if  I  have  iiu  epitiipb,  let  it  be,  here 
lies  "the  (itlier  glass  and  no  more." 

Jn7i.  Come,  ibey're  uU  sermons — let's  have  a  song — and  I'll  sing 
it.  (Betjhis  to  snig. 

G>pse.    No,  no,  I'll  sing  the  song.  (Begins  to  sing. 

Dog.     Neither  of  you  shall  sing.     I  am  master  here,  and  I'll  sing. 

(  Thumps  the  table,  begins  to  sing. 

Copse.  Come,  no  quarreling,  no  quarreling — now,  I've  hit  upon 
such  a  plan— such  a  scheme -ha!  ha  !— ecod,  I'm  the  boy  I  I'll  tell 
you  what — here's  an  idea  !  we'll  all  sing  together ! 

C  They  sing  discordant'.y,  and  at  length  each  sinks  into  a  state  of 
stupefaction,  and  scene  closes  in. 


Scene  IV. — A  Boom  in  an  Inn.    Doors  in  flat,  n.  and  l.    Interior 
backing. 

Enter  GiiANVuxe  and  Pounce,  i. 

Pounce.    (L. )    How  strange  !  I  thought  he  had  been  abroad. 

Olan.  (B. )  Aye,  and  so  'tis  said  he  was.  He  is  now,  however,  in 
this  house. 

FoiDice.     Has  he  seen  you  ? 

6lan.     Yes. 

Founce.  And  did  he  not  spurn  you,  for  your  desertion  of  him,  af- 
ter the  destruction  of  his  property  ? 

Glun.  Spurn  me !  I  tell  you  the  devil  drink  never  worked  so 
great  a  change  in  the  nature  of  any  man,  as  in  this  Vernon — all  his 
thoughts,  feelings,  actions,  begin  and  end  iu  a  bottle.  Think  you,  a 
wretch  so  base  and  mean  as  this,  has  room  for  the  indulgence  of  re- 
venge? True,  the  flame  may  at  times  flicker  within  him,  but  the 
ruling  passion  of  drink  rages  high  again,  makes  poor  the  passion  of 
vengeance  and  pufis  it  out. 

Pounce.     You  may  mistake  him, 

Glnn.  I  have  proof.  At  our  first  meeting  he  swelled  a  little  and 
glared  sullenly.  I  mentioned  wine — and  as  the  serpent's  eye  brings 
down  the  fluttering  bird  wilhiu  its  venomed  jaws,  so  at  the  ver^' 
sound,  his  mounting  spirit  dropped — and  now  look ! — see  where  'tis 
drugged  withiu  him  !  (  Throws  open  door  in  flat  u.  and  discovei's 
Vebnon  oil  the  floor,  as  if  slid  from  the  chair,  on  the  rail  of  whldi  his 
head  is  yet  resting. )    See  where  the  image  of  noble,  ambitious,  god- 


FIFTEEN  TEAKS   OV  A  DRUNKAKD'S  UFK.  W 

like  man — the  master  of  the  earth  and  all  its  beiugs— the  creature 
thiit  biuds  the  eleiueuts  to  his  will — that  tempts  tlie  billows  iu  their 
wrath  and  blunts  the  lightning— the  gifted  soul  that  would  read  tlie 
will  of  fate  within  tlie  star-lettered  front  of  heaven— see  where  he  lies, 
gorged  to  the  throat  with  wiue !  the  mockery  of  life,  the  antipodes  of 
reason. 

Pounce.     Still,  this  love  of  wine  has  been  his  only  fault, 

Gian.  Only  fault !  habitual  intoxication  is  tlie  epitome  of  every 
crime  ;  ail  the  vices  that  htaiu  our  nature  germiuiite  witiiiu  it,  waiting 
but  a  moment  to  sprout  forth  iu  pestilential  rankuess.  When  the 
Roman  stoic  sought  to  fix  a  damning  stigma  on  his  sister's  seducer, 
he  called  him  neither  simple  rebel,  bloodshedder,  or  villain — no,  he 
wreaked  every  odium  within  one  word,  and  that  was,  dmnkiird! 

Pounce.  It  may  be  ;  but  still  I  have  known  men  of  Vernon's  char- 
acter, capable  of  independent  thouglit. 

OUtn.  Impossible  1  Independence,  and  with  a  sot !  i  tell  yon 
when  a  m.m  stoops  to  contmuid  intoxiciitioii,  'tis  only  necessary  to 
drench  him  well  with  what  lie  loves,  and.  lii<e  wax,  you  may  work 
him  'tween  your  fingers,  moidding  him  f^ol  or  villain  as  you  will. 
Enough  of  this — Vernon  must  be  disposed  of. 

Pounce,     Disposed  of ! 

Olan.  Aye,  'tis  necessary  for  our  safety.  I  am  told  that  Franklin, 
Lis  brother-ill-law,  tliough  despising  Vernon,  yet  for  the  sake  of  his 
wife  and  child,  is  striving  to  find  out  that  French  Count. 

Pounce.     Well ! 

Olan.  Well  are  you  a  born  idiot,  or  moon-struck  ?  Know  you 
not,  that  if  Franklin  prove  successful,  the  draft,  which  in  Vi-ruon's 
name  I  forged,  making  him,  poor  fool,  believe  it  was  his  own  act —and 
which  you  caused  to  be  presented — must  come  against  hv  ?  Now  you 
see  the  necessity  ? 

Pouce.  Yes,  there  is  a  necessity — a  fearful  one !  What  is  to  be 
done  ? 

Olun.     Can  you  cut  a  throat? 

Pounce.     Sir? 

Olan.  Oh,  you  are  a  punctilious,  sweet-banded  villain  !  You  can 
forge  instruments  whereby  to  throw  happy  families  fnim  honorable 
independence  into  famishing  obscurity — you  can  slay  with  ink  and 
parchment — you  can  break  hearts,  accordbnj  to  Imo,  but  you  cannot 
commit  a  vulgar  murder  ;  you  are  brave  against  the  widow's  teai-s 
and  orphan's  moans,  but  you  cannot  look  on  blo()d  ! 

Pounce.  I  have,  as  you  know,  nndertakeu  desperate  things  during 
our  partnership  of  crime,  but  this 

Olan.  No  matter  for  the  past,  my  own  hand  shall  stead  me  in  the 
present. 

Pounce.     Consider,  'ere  'tis  too  late. 

Olan.  'Tis  too  late  to  consider.  Will  it  not,  after  what  I  have 
done,  be  an  act  of  charity  to  put  that  piece  of  scarcely  breathing  lum- 
ber (points  to  VebNDn)  into  a  quiet  grave?     (After  looking  a  momeiyt 


38  FI7TE£N  XEABS  OF  A  DRUNEABD's  LIFB, 

at  Yebnom.)  By  Leaveu  !  I  would  rather  be  the  villain  that  I  am, 
with  all  uy  faculties  strong  and  active  in  crime,  than  that  poor  dull 
piece  of  saturated  clay. 

Ver.  (Dreaming.)  No,  no — no  more  wine — give  me  spirits, 
spirits  1 — ah !  they  fire  my  heart  again ! — now,  now  I  am  myself! 

(  Falls  prostrcUe. 

Olan.  Do  you  retire  and  watch  my  steps  when  I  leave  this  place 
with  Vemou.  (Exit  Pounce,  l.)  So!  now  for  my  victim!  (Ap- 
proaches Vebnon,  and  after  some  difficulty  rouses  him,  bringing  him 
down  stage,  then  leaves  him  and  goes  to  door  in  flat  l.,  brings  down 
decanter  of  spirits  and  two  glasses. )  Come,  how  now !  What,  Fred ! 
cast  down,  and  with  only  four  bottles  ! 

Ver.  Where  am  I?  What  has— ( Seeing  GiAuriLiiE,  /le  shrinks 
hack) — Glanville !  or  is  it  some  ghastly  dream? 

OUin.  (Who  pours  ord  tnore  spirUs,  l.)  Here!  here!  this  will 
awaken  you. 

Ver.  (B.,  who  snatches  at  it  almost  instinctively  and  swallows  iL ) 
'Tis  of  the  right  kind 'ifaith  !  Another,  another!  (Drinks.)  Now 
the  clouds  are  clearing  up — come,  oue  more,  but  one  more,  and  I 
shall  have — (feeling  his  brow) — the  bright  day. 

Olan.     AU  !  now  you  look  like  youixelf. 

Ver.  Myself !  Who  is  that  ?  Ha  !  I  remember,  it  was  Vernon — 
Frederick  Vemou — the  happy,  rich,  respected — that  was  Fred  Ver- 
non.    Where,  where  is  he? 

Ola7i.     What,  the  vapors  again  ?    Another  bumper  ! 

(Glanville  pours  oid  a  glass  from  the  decanter,  and  is  about  to 
give  it  to  Vebnon,  who  puts  it  aside  and  seizes  Uie  decanter. 

Ver.  (After  dtinking. )  So  !  now  I  have  found  him — now  I  am  fit 
for  anything.  Come,  where  will  you  go,  Glanville  ?  Will  you  go  to 
my  house?  We'll  have  a  splendid  feast— a  supper  for  Lucnllus. 
Come  !  But  you  don't  drink ! — you  are  dull  and  steady — now  no  man 
sups  with  me  who  don't  drink  ;  no  man,  woman,  or  child,  tliui  don't 
drink. 

Olaiu  ( Affecting  intoxication. )  Don't  drink?  Why,  I  have  drunk 
like  an  emperor — like  an  emperor ! 

Ver.     This  way,  then — this  way,  then.  (Singing. 

<<  The  glasses  sparkle  on  the  board,  &c  (Exeuni  b. 


ScENB  V. — A  Street.    Fbankltn's  House,  door  to  open.    Ifight,  lights 
down.     Music. 

Enter  Alicu,  i>. 

AIL    My  search  is  in  vain — he's  nowhere  to  be  found.    I  shudder 
to  think  on  it,  but  perhaps  the  image  of  iusensibility,  my  husband. 


FTFTEEN  YBABS  OF  A  DBUKKABD'S  U72.  Si& 

lies  in  the  cold  air,  at  the  mercy  of  the  mercy  of  the  elements,  and  of 
every  rugged  iiud  unfeeling  passeuger !  Oli,  Vernou,  if  not  for  my 
sake,  at  least  for  your  poor  cliild's— for  your  sweet,  innoceutboy — 
return  to  your  desolated  Lome!  Whither  have  I  wandered?  This 
street — you  house  — oli,  my  poor  heart!  In  yonder  house,  the  abode 
of  virtuous  love,  live  Franklin  and  his  happy  wife,  the  wretched  Ver- 
non's sister.  Oh,  I  can  picture  the  scene  within  that  hoitse— domes- 
tic joy,  with  every  grace  of  life,  hixa  sanctified  its  heartli-stone  Per- 
haps Lonisa,  now  happy  in  her  love,  is  sitting  with  her  hushund  ; 
whilst  at  my  home,  desolation  frowns  from  the  bare  walls — my  child, 
sunk  to  sleep  in  its  wild  cries  for  bread — and  my  husband — ^oh  !  let 
me  away  from  tliis  spot;  let  me  hence,  whilst  I  have  sense  to  fl}'. 
(Looks  offn.)  Ha  !  some  one  approaches,  and  with  strange  precau- 
tion !    Let  me  a  moment  observe.  (Relives  l. 

Elder.  Picklock  and  two  Thieves,  k. 

First  Thief.  Depend  upon  it,  Picklock,  you  may  trust  Juniper  ; 
let  him  drink  as  he  may,  he  still  keeps  an  eye  to  business. 

Picklock.     01),  I  never  doubted  him.     But  whereabouts  are  we? 

First  Thief.     Tliis  is  the  spot  —and  that  the  house. 

Picklock      What's  o'clock?    Hark  !  the  chimes!       ( Strikes  iirelve. 

First  lliief  It  is  the  hour — now  for  the  signal !  (Picklock  (o/ii.s- 
Ues,  and  is  answered  from  the  house.)  That's  the  nightingale  I  love  to 
bear. 

Pick.  Now,  comrades  ;  here  is  a  bootj',  stand  firm  and  we  may 
make  our  fortunes. 

Fiist  Thief.  But,  captain,  is  this  to  be  a  simple  or  a  compound 
job  I 

Pick.     What  do  you  mean  ? 

First  Thief.  Mean  !  Why,  is  it  to  be  a  plain  robbery,  or — you  un- 
dei-sti^nd? 

Pick.  Not  if  we  can  help  it;  but  if  there's  any  resistance,  spare 
no  one,  in  order  to  destroy  all  evidence.  ( The  door  is  opeueti  bi/ 
JuNiPEB.)     Ha  !  the  door  is  opened — come  ! 

(Music — Thieves  enter  Franklin's  house,  B.  in  flat. 

Alicia^  comes  forward,  u 

All.  They  will  be  murdered  !  How  shall  I  act  ?  Shall  I  cry  aloud 
for  help?— no,  no — they  may  be  sacrificed  in  the  tumult!  Let  me 
be  dumb  if  I  can,  whilst  I  seek  efifectual  jissistance.  Louisa !  Frank- 
lin !  I  fly  to  save  you.  (Exit  u 

Enter  Veenon  (his  dres.i  disordered)  and  Glanvillk,  b. 

Ver.     (L.)     No,  no— I  say  it  was  not  .sherry,  it  was  brandy  ;  good, 
glorious  brandy  !     My  heart  is  like  a  volcano  with  it  now. 
Olan.     (It.)     I  say  it  was  sherry. 
Ver.     And  1  say  it  was  not. 


90  FIFTEEM  TEAB8  OF  A  DBUMKASD'S  UFB. 

Glaiu    Would  j'onr  quarrel  witb  me  ? 

Vet:    Quarrel !     Why  uot?    I'm  a  man,  I  hope — five  iimes  a  man, 
for  I've  driiuk  as  many  bottles. 
Glan.     No  matter — you  are.  wrong. 

Vet:     Say  that  again,  and  if  you  do 

Olan.     What !  am  I  threatened?    Let  this  end  it,  then! 

(Draws  a  knife  and  stabs  Vebnon,  who  es^plaims,  "Villain!" 
and  drawing  a  pistol  from  }iis  breast,  fires  it  at  Glantiluj, 
who  falls.  At  this  instatit,  the  itimules  of  Fbanklin's  house 
are  alarmed.  T'he  Thieves  msh  out,  thinkitig  themselves  be- 
•  irayed.  Atjcia  runs  on  with  neighbors  from  the  l.  ,  who  over- 
come the  Thieves,  and  Juniper  atid  Copsewood,  rcho  are  iden- 
tified with  them,  a  pocket-book  falling  from  Cophewoov' a  pockeL 
AtiTcta  supports  Iter  wowuied  husbatid.    Fidure, 

Neighbors  secure     Neighbors  secure 

■PicTii^><^  «"<i      ^  JuNrPEB  and 
^^        ^rKi*«es.  B.C.      CoPSEwooz>,i.^  4^ 


Neighbor, 
ENS  OF  ACT  n> 

A  lapse  often  years  betweett  the  seco}ui  atid  third  ads. 


ACT  IIL 

Scene  I. — B-ont  Landscape,     (httage  on  b. 
Enter  Winqbibo  atid  Doobose,  i« 

Wing.     (B.)    Well,  honest  Dogrose,  this  is  a  busy  day  for  you,  eh? 
Dog.     (l)    Yes,  sir  ;  and  all  I  hope  is,  that  Miss  Isabella  will  be 
happier  to-day,  than  poor  Madam  Veruon,  her  aunt,  is  likely  to  be. 


FIFTEEN    YEARS   OF   A   DUUNKABD's   UTS.  31 

Wing.     Well,  I  wish  her  J03'  with  all  uiy  sooL 

Dog.     And  so  do  I,  sir. 

Wing.     I  have  heard  that  Vemou  is  dead.     Is  it  so? 

Dig.  Why,  so  we  believe,  sir;  'tis  now  ten  j'eare  since  he  was 
heard  of ;  lie  had  an  affray  with  that  Glanville  you  have  heard  me 
speak  about,  and  after  that  he  went  abroad,  and  no  tidings  have  since 
reached  us  ;  his  wTfe  and  sou  have  since  that  time  been  protected  by 
Mr.  Franklin.  But,  ble-ss  me  !  I've  so  much  to  do,  that  I  can't  waste 
another  moment  in  talk — not  a  moment— so  good  morning,  sir,  good 
morning.  (Meit  l.. 

Wing.  Good  day,  friend.  Ah,  yonder  I  pee  the  villagers  assem- 
bling.    I'll  e'n  mingle  with  them  until  the  party  joins  us.        (Exit  i* 

Elder  Alicia  and  Isabella /)0?)i  cottage,  b. 

I.<ia.  (E.)  ^ly  dearest  madam,  why  should  yon  on  this  day  cherish 
such  gloomy  thoughts?  I  have  watched  you  when  you  knew  it  not, 
have  seen  you,  but  an  hour  since,  gaze  on  me  with  a  look  of  bitterest 
anguish,  and  only  turn  away  to  sigh  and  weep. 

Ali.  (L.)  Bless  you,  my  child,  bless  yon!  (Aside.)  Oh!  Ver- 
non ! 

I.sa.  Tears  again !  Dear  madam,  the  grave  has  closed  o'er  my 
uncle  this  many  a  year.     Why  revert  to  this? 

Ali.  'Tis  rumored  so  ;  but  how  or  where  he  died  we  have  no  direct 
proof.     Heaven  pardon  me,  but  I  almost  fear  he  lives. 

Jsn.     Fear,  madam,  fear  ! 

Ali.  Aye — death  must  have  been  terrible  to  him,  come  when  it 
would  ,  but  life,  if  he  still  lives,  and  with  that  frightful  vice  craving 
within  liim— oh,  what  a  spectacle  of  crime  and  horror.  No,  no,  it 
cannot  be — at  least,  I  pniy  not — I  would  rather  gaze  upon  his  tomb- 
stone than  meet  his  living  eye.  But  'tis  unjust  towards  you,  my 
child,  to  indulge  these  thoughts. 

Isa,     Here  comes  my  father. 

Enter  Fkanklin,  /roiu  cottage,  b. 

R'ank.  My  dearest  Isabella,  your  mother  should  have  lived  to  see 
this  day. 

E.iter  DoGBOSE,  l. 

Dog.     Oh,  sir,  sir — here  are  all  the  good  neighbors  in  attendance. 
FraiJc.     We  attend  ;  come,  Isabella. 

(Exeunt  Isabella,  FRANKLm  and  Aucia,  l. 
Dog.     (Looking  off,  L.)     There  they  go,  happy  as  larks.     Ah,  that 
I  was  young  again,  the  swett  goUleu  age  frouj  eighteen  to  thirty. 

Eater  GLANViUiE,  carrying  a  pack,  from  b. — crosses  to  l.,  throws  down 
pack. 

Dog.    No  light  oompnuiou  that  for  a  hot  day's  march,  eh,  friend? 


S2  ViriEffiN   XiCAUS  OF   A   DBUMKABD's  lilFB. 

Olaii.  (u)  Yoli  speak  truly — yet  I  have  tnidged  with  it  inauy  n 
weiiry  mile.     If  yon  Cave  chanty  of  a  man,  give  uie  a  cnp  of  watt-r. 

Dog.  Water !  That's  a  bad  couuuotiity  to  tmvel  with  ;  perhaps  I 
may  fiud  you  a  better  ;  stay  here  till  I  retiiru.       (Ex'U  B.  into  collage. 

GUui,  So,  Glauville,  after  ten  years  wauderiug,  after  all  your  vil- 
lanies,  what  are  you?  A  mendicant,  or  little  better.  Hiuited  by  the 
unceasing  pereecutiou  of  Frankliu,  who  detected  ihe  forf^ery,  1  hiive 
lived  an  exile  from  my  country.  Why  do  I  return?  Perhaps  death 
has  laid  my  enemy  iu  his  grave,  and  then 

Re-enie)-  Dogbose,  b.,  with  a  flask.     At  (Ms  momenf,  Ykkkov,  gruy- 
heuded  and  in  tatters,  is  seai  to  look  in  from  toing,  l. 

Dog.  Here,  friend,  this,  I  take  it,  will  put  new  life  into  your  feet. 
Farewell,  and  a  good  journey  to  you. 

(Exit  It.     Glanville  j>u/s  thefUtsk  to  his  lips. 

Elder  Vkbnon,  l.,  hwries  down  beside  Glanviuue  and  lays  his  hand  on 
his  shoxdder. 

Ver.  A  drop !  but  cue  drop  for  the  love  of  heaven.  I  am  staiT- 
ing. 

Glan.     Starving — this  is  not  for  a  hungry  man — 'tis  brandy. 

Ver.  Brandy  !  'Tis  food,  raiment,  all  to  me.  A  drop !  but  one 
drop. 

67a?!.     No,  beg  it  as  I  have  done. 

(Glanvilij;  looks  sullenly  at  Vernon,  «?id  goes  off  with  pack,  l. 

Vei:  He's  gone  ;  my  limbs  can  scarcely  support  me  to  the  door  — 
yet  I  must  endeavor.  ( Slriving  to  get  to  the  cottage,  he  staggers  and 
falls. )     'Tis  over — death  creeps  upon  me. 

Jie-€)der  Isabella,  l. 

i.svt.  Ah,  yonder  wretched  man — some  poor  traveler  o'erwearied  in 
liis  journey — or,  heavens,  perhaps  dead — for  he  shows  no  signs  of 
life  he  breathes — I'll  iu  and  bring  some  aid.  (Exit  into  cottage,  it., 
and  returns  with  lotiie. )  Come,  cheerly,  good  man  1  (VjiBNON  je- 
vives.J     Cheerly,  you  are  among  friends. 

Ver.  Friends  !  'Tis  a  strange  word  to  my  ear.  I  thank  you — you 
have  a  gentle  heart. 

Isa.     Here  is  wine. 

Ver.  Wine  !  (  With  an  effort  he  seizes  it,  and  empties  the  flask. ) 
There  is  life  iu  every  drop  ;  'tis  long  since  I  have  tasted  it 

Isa.     Whither  are  you  journeying  ? 

Ver.     Nowhere  ;  tlie  whole  world  presents  an  equal  path  to  me. 

Isa.     Have  you  no  kindred? 

Vei:  Ask  me  not—  'tis  a  question  I  dare  not  ask  myself.  Kindred  I 
Dh,  'tis  a  tale  of  sorrow. 

Isa.     Indeed  !  then  I'll  not  hear  it,  for  this  is  my  birthday. 

Ver.    Your  birthday — a  wretch's  blessing  wait  upon  you. 


FlTXEilN  YEARS   OF   A  DEUNKAKD's   UFB.  33 

Isa.  Here,  my  good  mau,  is  money — take  it,  and  heaven  bless 
you.  (Exit  into  cottage,  n. 

Ver.  Alicia,  my  murdered  wife — for  well  I  know  tlie  gx-ave  must, 
long  'ere  this,  have  held  yon,  my  boy,  my  son — my  son!  The  drun- 
kard has  no  sou,  no  wife,  no  friend  ;  with  oue  fniutic  grasp  he  tears 
from  his  heart  all  ties  of  blood  and  honor.  Oh  !  that  I  had  ne'er  been 
Ijoru — ue'er  had  life  to  crawl  a  wretched  outcast,  hateful  to  the  woild, 
loathsome  to  myself  But  no,  1  must  not  reflect —'tis  horror.  Here 
is  mouey,  'twill  buy  me— what?  No  matter,  I  feel  myself  grow  fran- 
tic, and  with  the  greater  madness  must  I  put  down  the  less.  Ah ! 
there  is  an  inn — my  heart  is  burstiug — my  throat's  on  fire — let  me, 
though  in  frenzy,  strive  to  quench  it.  (Rxishes  off,  l. 


Scene  II. — The  Inside  of  a  Gountry  Tnn.    Door  in  flat,  l. 
Bttstics  discovered  seated  drinking  at  b.  table.    Landlobd,  a. 

First  Eus.     So,  master,  there's  been  a  gala  to-day  in  parish. 
Laud.     Yes,  'tis  the  birthday  of  Squire  Fi-auklin's  daughter ;  and 
what  have  you  to  say  to  that? 

First  Bus.     Say,  why  nothing,  but  here's  my  good  wishes  to  her. 

Elder  Copsewood,  door  in  flat,  l.,  his  appearance  that  of  extreme  misery. 

Copse.  (  Sits  at  table,  l.  )  Bring  me  some  ale.  Well,  what  do  you 
look  at  ? 

Land.     You've  mouey  in  your  purse,  I  hope. 

Copse.     Perhaps  1  have. 

Land.  Well,  theu,  perhaps  I'll  draw  you  the  ale  ;  but  that  we  may 
neither  of  us  be  left  to  doubt,  suppose  you  show  me  a  glimpse  of 
your  coin  first. 

G^pse.     (Gives  money.)    There,  'tis  my  last. 

Laud.     Sorry  for  it. 

Copse.     Indeed. 

iMud.     Yes  ;  for  both  our  sakes.  CMeil  r. 

Copse.  Aud  is  there  never  a  true  fellow  among  you  to  ask  a  stranger 
to  wet  his  lips?  What,  all  silent?  AVcll,  no  matter.  (The  Rustics, 
having  finished  drinking,  go  off,  one  by  one,  at  door  in  flat,  l.)  A  clear 
house  !  Well,  Tom  Copsewood,  aud  here  you  are  after  fifteen  years 
of  madness,  lor  I  can  find  no  better  word,  an  old,  decrepit  pauper — 
name  aud  health  lost — and  for  what — for  what  ? 

Re-enter  Landix)ud,  r. 

Cbpse.    Oh,  the  ale,  the  ale !       (  Takes  ale  and  greedily  swallows  it. 


34  FIFTEEN   TEAES  OF  A  DKONKABd's   LIFE. 


Land,     (c.)    You  are  a  strauger  about  these  parts? 

Copse.     ( At  1m  table. )    Aye,  just  put  ashore. 

Laud.  Just  put  on  sliore.  Wliy,  there  has  been  no  vessel  ueai 
here  this  week  past  but  the  convict  ship  uow  iu  the  roads.  You  didu'l 
come  passenger  iu  her,  did  you  ? 

Copse.     ^Vhy,  no  matter  for  Ihat. 

Land.     And  what's  your  business  iu  this  part  of  the  country? 

Copse.  To  get  work,  if  I  can  fiud  any  one  charitable  enough  to 
employ  me  ;  but  I  fear  the  sick  and  the  old  can  obtain  but  tew  mas- 
ters. 

Land.    Work !    "What  can  you  do  ? 

Copse.    Anything.     At  least  I  am  willing  to  tr)'. 

LuncL  I'm  afraid  you  will  stand  a  bad  chance,  friend.  There 
is  something  suspicious  about  you  that  would  prevent  a  respecta- 
ble  

Copse.  Yes,  there  it  is.  If  a  man  once  fall,  no  matter  when — no 
matter  how  he  may  have  suffered — repented  of  the  rashness — the  good 
respectable  people  of  this  world  raise  their  hands,  set  up  the  long 
loud  cry  ;  and  the  young  rogue,  whom  accident  may  have  at  first 
seduced,  becomes  iu  selt-defence  confirmed  in  crime,  and  dies  a  har- 
dened ruffian — when  a  timely  hand — but  no  matter — you  speak  the 
common  tongue,  and  I  must  starve. 

La)id.     No— I  would  serve  you. 

Copse.     Would  you? 

Land.  Yes.  I  like  prudence,  and  have  practiced  it — but  not  that 
cold  and  calculating  foresight  which  you,  and  rightly,  too,  condemn. 
You  may  have  done  wrong  once.  Well,  show  me  the  man  that  has 
not,  and  let  him  tell  you  to  starve  on  the  highway — I  have  committed 
many  an  error,  and  have  no  right  to  say  so,  nor  will  1. 

Copse.  Bless  you  !  I  thought  you  oue  of  those  hard-faced  men, 
whose  looks 

Land.  Why,  as  for  looks,  friends,  I  fear  if  either  of  us  were  to  be 
recomniended  by  looks,  neither  would  stand  much  chance  of  prefer- 
ment. 

Copse.     I  will  deserve  j'our  kindness — be  sure  I  will. 

Land.  Do  so,  and  you  may  live  peaceably.  But,  I  sa}',  I  have  a 
little  experience  iu  these  matters — uow  by  youi"  face  I  should  judge 
you  had  not  lived  on  water  nil  your  life? 

Copse.  No — there  it  is— there — but  that's  past,  depend  on  it ;  I 
now  see  the  guilt,  the  horror,  the  sin  of  it,  and  am  determined  to 
live  and  die  a  sober,  reformed  old  man.  You  will  not  judge  a  man 
by  his  outward  appeamnce  ? 

Land.  No,  uot  altogether.  I  judge  of  the  poor,  oppres-sed  man 
as  I  do  of  my  lime  trees  in  winter  ;  well,  they  look  bare  and  ragged 
enough,  but  shall  I  cut  them  down  for  fire-wood  ?  No ;  for  the 
spring  comes  and  they  put  forth  their  leaves,  and  hung  out  their 
flowers  iu  the  air,  giving  a  cooling  shade,  and  shedding  sweetue&i 


ZIFTBEM  XEABS  OF  A  DBCNEABD'b  IJFK.  35 

round  about.  And  so  I  hope  a  like  goodly  change  iu  you.  But  come 
with  me. 

Copse.  To  the  world's  end.  You  have  poured  oil  upon  my  bruised 
heart— you  have  taken  a  load  from  my  brain.  Drink  !  no  never  again 
— never,  here  I'll  swear 

Land.  ( Stops  him. )  You  shall  do  no  such  thing  ;  if  gratitude 
cannot  bind  men,  oaths  have  no  power.  To-day  my  servant  quitted 
ine,  you  shall  supply  his  place,  and  even  now,  must  enter  on  your 
business.  There  is  a  hamper  of  wine  and  brandy  to  take  up  to  the 
manor-house — mind,  be  worthy  of  my  trust. 

Copse.  Worthy !  May  heaven  strike  me  from  the  earth  when  I 
disgrace  it.  (Extant  b. 


Scene  III. — A  Front  Grove. 
Elder  Fbankun  and  Wingbird,  l. 

Frank,  (k.)  Well,  if  you  cannot  dine,  at  least  j'ou'll  spend  the 
evening  with  us. 

Wing.  (L.)  With  all  my  heart.  This,  neighbor  Franklin,  must 
be  a  happy  day  for  you. 

Frank.  It  is  ;  and  yet  its  brightness  is  at  intervals  shadowed  by 
gloomy  tlioughts. 

Wing.     Niiy,  all  weakness,  man. 

Frank.  Poor  Vernon !  my  poor  misguided,  wretched  friend !  I 
cannot  think  of  him  even  now  without  emotion. 

Wing.  Nor  without  feeling,  I  should  imagine ;  how  nobly  you 
have  acted  towards  him  by  protecting  his  wife  and  child. 

Frank.  It  was  my  duty.  I  have  now  but  one  wish  ungrntified — 
and  yet,  living  us  it  does  with  vengeance,  it  is  unworthy  of  my  yeans. 
Yet  could  I  brnig  that  villain  Glanville  to  his  earthly  compt— could 
I  but  see  the  miscreant  who,  with  devilish  subtlety,  lured  the  infatu- 
ated Vernon  to  destructien— could  I  but  see  him  prostrate  at  the  foot 
of  justice— I  had  then  no  wish,  no  hope,  ungratified. 

Wing.  But  the  forgery,  of  which  Glaanville  was  guilty,  has  been 
made  manifest  to  the  whole  world. 

Frank.  Yes  ;  yet  the  culprit  has  hitherto  escaped  ;  whetlier,  in- 
deed, he  now  exists  is  a  matter  of  conjecture.  Had  Vernon's  pistol 
been  true,  he  had  long  since  been  numbered  with  the  dead.  Even 
there,  however,  my  wretched  friend  was  foiled,  and,  though  severely 
wounded  by  the  hand  of  the  assassin,  was  compelled  to  seek  in  a 
foreign  land  an  asylum  safe  from  the  outx-aged  law. 

Elder  Dogbose,  b. 

Dog.     (  To  Fbanklin.  )    Sir,  the  guests  are  all  waiting  for  you— 


86  FIFTEEN  TEABS  OF  A  DBDMKABD's  UFB. 

the  seivauts  have  been  senrcbing  for  yon — Miss  Isabella  has  almost 
been  crying  for  you — and  here  I'm  come 

Fianlc.  Well,  well,  I  attend  you.  ( Oiosses  to  R. )  Mind,  Wing- 
bird,  you  are  expected. 

Wing.     I  will  not  fail.  (Exit  Frankun,  b. 

Dog.  Be  sure,  sir,  yon  don't,  for  I  can  tell  you  tliere'll  be  i-ure 
siwrt.  There's  the  musicians  invited,  half  the  vilLigers  too  and 
more  than  that,  there  is  to  be  a  little  fete  in  the  servant's  hall.  You'll 
be  sure,  then,  not  to  fail— because,  between  you  and  me,  the  mob  of 
the  spectators  will  not,  I  am  afraid,  comprehend  the  beauty  of  what  I 
have  done  ;  now  you  are  a  man  of  taste,  and  will  take  it  in  a  minute 
— for  if  there  is  an  annoyance,  it  is  to  have  done  a  good  thing,  and  to 
find  no  one  that  understands  it.  (Exeunt  severally,  B. 

Enter  Copsewood,  toith  basket,  i» 

Copse.  I  am  a  new  man — I  feel  as  I  have  not  felt  these  ten  years  ; 
I  seem  to  have  shaken  off  the  iufinnities  of  time  and  dist-ipation,  and 
to  have  become  young  and  vigorous  again.  I  am  to  take  this  wine 
and  brandy  to  the  manor  house — aye,  and  I  will— every  drop  of  it — 
every  drop.  I  haven't  staid  once  to  look  at  my  charge — let  me  see  if 
it  be  all  right.  (Fids  down  h'isket  and  takes  bodies  out,  as  ifconntlitg 
them.)  How  they  sparkle  !  Ha!  ( Holding  one  up.  )  1  can  see  the 
beads  upon  it,  bright  and  glistening  as  the  sun.  But  what's  that  to 
me  ?    It's  not  mine — not  mine. 

jBt/ej-  Veenon,  l. 

Ver.  (L.a)  I  have  it — I  have — eh!  (  Seeing  bottles. )  How  now, 
comrade  ? 

Copse.  (B.O.)  Well,  what  are  you  looking  at?  It's  not  mine — not 
mine — or  you  should  be  welcome,  heartily  welcome.  Would  you  be- 
lieve it  now  ?  I  have  carried  this  heavy  basket  half  a  mile,  and  never 
once  stopped  to  draw  a  cork. 

Ver,    Impossible ! 

(hpse.  It's  a  melancholy  fact.  Ha  !  how  they  sparkle.  I  wonder 
if  all  the  corks  are  in  tight?     (  Trying  them. )     Yes — yes. 

Ver.  Well,  comrade,  I  see  you  are  one  of  the  fine  old  school,  no 
Blinker,  whatever  it  may  be.  Here — here's  a  dnxught  for  you— it's 
brandy,  real  brandy.  (Giving flask. 

Copse.    Brandy  !    No,  I  mustn't — I  mustn't  touch  it. 

Vei:     You  won't?     Well,  then 

Copse.  No,  no— I  won't  oflfend  you  by  refusing — I'll  just  wet  my 
lips— but  I  don't  want  it — (drinks  heailily.) — I  don't  want  it 
(Drinks  again.)  Oh,  there's  nothing  like  it?  Oh,  what  a  world 
would  this  be,  if  all  the  rivers  were  brsiudy,  and  the  green  fields 
tobacco. 

Ver.  You  say  rightly — rightly.  But,  hallo!  friend,  you  have 
emptied  the  flask. 


FIFTEEK  YEABS  07  A  DBTTMKABD'S  LIFE.  37 

Copse.  It  can't  be  !  (  Taking  flask. )  So  I  have— that's  the  only 
fault  I  find  with  my  mouth — though  I've  known  it  for  the  last  forty 
years,  I  can't  trust  it  with  a  full  bottle. 

Ver.     No  matter  ;  now  you  know  it's  your  turn. 

Copse.  What,  j'ou  meau — no,  I  can't — it's  not  mine — they  are  all 
counted,  and  the  corks  are  all  in  so  infernally  tight. 

Ver.  And  don't  you  yet  know  how  to  empty  a  bottle  without  draw- 
ing a  cork  ? 

Copse.  Without  drawing  a  cork  ?  No,  that's  a  trick  I  should  like 
to  see — that  trick  above  all  things. 

Ver.  You  shall  see  it.  (ViiuNON  looks  about  and  picks  up  a  straw. ) 
Now  then — stay,  here's  a  gimlet.  ( Boies  a  hole  through  cork,  through 
which  he  puts  the  straw. )  There  now,  drink — there's  a  touch  of  prac- 
tical philosophy  for  you. 

Copse.  (  Who  has  dnaik.  J  Philosophy  !  I  don't  know  what  you 
call  philosophy — but  hero's  liquor,  and  we'll  not  part  till  we've  done 
some  business  with  it.  You're  a  clever  fellow — give  us  your  hand — 
come  with  me — here  we  shall  be  seen  ;  we'll  go  down  yonder  lane, 
and  make  a  hole  in  the  cork  of  every  one  of  them — what's  half  a  pint 
out  of  each  of  them  ?  Then  with  the  help  of  a  bottle  or  two  from  the 
servants,  we'll  make  a  rare  night  of  it.  Come  along,  you're  a  boy  of 
my  own  heart.    Come.  (Eeeunt,  b. 


Scene  IV. — A  Garden  with  an  Apartment  opening  to  it  with  folding 
daws,  o. 

Enter  Isabella,  At-thta  and  Fbanslin,  from  !<. 

Ali.     (c.)     Do  not,  my  dearest  child,  misconstrue  my  motives, 
whilst  I  withdmw  myself  thus  early  from  the  festivities  that  await 
you.     I  am  not  well,  and  should  but  cast  a  shadow  o'er  your  mirth. 
Isa.     (B. )    Nay,  dear  madam,  but  for  another  hour. 
Frank,     (l.)    Do  not  ask  it 

Ali.  Bless  you,  my  child,  bless  you.  Return  to  your  friends, 
whilst  I,  within  my  silent  chamber,  call  on  heaven  to  shed  around 
you  its  choicest  blessings — peace  and  innocence. 

(Music — Isabella  kneels  to  Axjcu,  she  blesses  her  and  exits  into 
chamber,  c. 

Entej-  DooROSE,  l. 

Dog.  (L.)  Come,  sir,  now  the  grand  affair  will  commence  ;  all  the 
actors  are  in  readiness,  and  all  they  want  is  an  audience  ;  "fit  audi- 
ence find,  though  few,"  as  the  poet  says. 


So  flFTEEN  XEABS   OF  A  SUDNKABD  8  UFS. 

Isa.     And  pray  what's  the  subject  of  this  goodly  sight? 

Dog,  The  subject?  No,  no,  uot  ft  word  upou  that — let  the  sub- 
ject, like  a  suake,  uutwist  itself,  theu  all  you  have  to  do  ia  to  applaud 
aud  wonder.     But  j'ou  are  uot  couiiug. 

Frank.  As  master  of  the  cereiuouies,  lead  on  ;  we  attend  with  due 
submission. 

(Exewil  DoQtLOBK,  followed  by  Fbankun  and  Isabella,  l. 

Enter  Copsewood  and  Vernon,  each  can~ying  jt  boille,  B. 

Copse.  (L.C.)  I  told  you  we  should  each  get  a  bottle  for  our  pains 
— but  where  to  drink  it,  eh?  Here's  a  pretty  spot!  Oh,  I  kuuw 
where  I  am  ;  through  that  chamber  leads  to  the  store-room,  where  I 
saw  them  take  the  wiue. 

Ver.     (B.O.)    Well,  here's  to  our  better  acquaintance,  brother. 

Copse.  Better  acquaiutauce  !  We'll  never  leave  one  another 
agaiu  ; — no,  no,  we  are  made  for  bosom  friends—  how  stands  your 
bottle  ? 

Ver.  Why,  how  do  you  think  it  should  ?  I  have  had  it  twice  lo 
my  mouth  ;  you  wouldn't  be  so  imcousciouable  as  to  expect  any  in  it, 
would  you? 

Copse.  No,  for  look  at  mine — I  have  only  taken  one  di-aught  and 
a  half — and  see — see  what  mischief  I've  done. 

Vei:     Well,  is  no  more  to  be  had  ? 

Copse.     I  cau't  Siiy — what  do  you  think  ? 

Ver.     Suppose  you  try  that  room?  f Points  off,  c 

Copse.     Ah  !  there  would  be  danger  iu  it — I've  had  one  warning. 

Ver.     How  ? 

Copse.  Ten  years  ago,  I  was  seized  and  tried  with  a  gang  of  bur- 
glars— aud  why?  I  was  drunk,  aud  stolen  goods  were  found  upon 
me — I  was  innocent,  though — innocent  as 

Vei\  Aye,  aye — that  of  course,  but  that  came  of  not  knowing  your 
company — now,  when  you  are  diinkiug  with  an  honest,  trusty  friend, 
like  ine 

Copse.     No,  no — I  won't — I  want  strength  to 

Vei:  ,  Do  you  ?    Well,  then,  here  it  is  !  (  Takes  out  bottle. 

Copse.     What!  another? 

Ver.  Aye,  'tis  the  last  though — come,  drink,  drink,  and  then  for 
more. 

Copse.     (Bnnks — and  after  a  pause. )    No,  no— I  can't. 

Ver.     Coward ! 

Copse.     What ! 

Ver.    Behold  !  I'll  venture. 

Copse.     No,  no — if  you  are  detected  ! 

Ver.     I  am  armed. 

Copse.     But  you  would  not  use  violence  ? 

Ver.  No — except  for  self-preservation.  I  know  'tis  wrong,  but 
the  devil,  drunkenness,  urges  me  on.  The  wine,  you  say,  is  to  be 
had  through  that  room— I  will  have  it— stay  here  and  watch. 


FIFTEEK  TEABS   07  A  DBTTITKABD's  UVE.  39 

(hpse.    Be  catitious,  then. 
Vet:     Sileuce  and  'tis  oura. 

(Music.    Vebnon  goes  into  chamber,  o.,  aixd  Copsewood  goes 
slowly  off  L.  as  watching. 

Elder  GLANTHiLE,  e. 

Olnn.  All  is  discovered !  I  am  in  the  ver}'  bouse  of  my  oppreasor. 
Wliiit's  to  be  doue?  Those  drunkards  !  Could  I  but  strike  Fraukliu, 
and  fix  the  deed  on  them — ah  !  it  shall  be  so  !  f  Takes  out  pistol. ) 
At  the  alarm,  Franklin  will  doubtless  appear — in  the  confusion  he 
will  prove  an  easy  prey.  (  Ooes  up  to  c.  door  and  calls  out. )  What ! 
house !  within  there — thieves  !  thieves  ! 

(AuciA  screams  loif/iiu —Vernon  is  heard  to  exclaim,  "  Ha  !  be- 
trayed !  then,  murder,  do  thj'  worst !"  Alicia  runs  from  the 
chamber,  wounded,  and  exclaiming,  "Murder!  murder!"  she 
is  followed  by  Vernon,  holding  a  dagger.  Franklin,  Isabella 
and  others  run  in  from  l.  ^.s-  Frankijn  appears,  Glanvillji 
discharges  his  pistol  from  B.,  the  bali  slrUces  Vernon,  o. 
Olan.  Ah,  foiled  ! 
Fra)ik.     That  voice  !    Glauville  ! 

Copsewood  i-ushiugfrom  the  a'oxod,  L. 

Copse.     Glanville  !  where  !  ah  !— there  stands  the  villain  !— die ! 
(Copsewood  stabs  Glanville,  who  falls  ;  he  is  about  to  stab  him- 
self ichen  he  is  restrained  by  Rustics. 
Ver.     (  Who  is  raised  up. )    Oh  1  wretched  Vernon. 
Omnes.     Vernon ! 

Ali.     Vernon  !    Almighl)'  powers !    Vernon  !  my  hnsband !  my 

Ver.  Thy  husband?  (Recognising  her.)  Alicia — it  is,  it  is. 
Heaven  forgive  me — I  am  thy  murderer  ! 

(Falls.    Alicia  m/ilces  an  effort  to  embrace  him  as  he  is  falling, 
when  she  sinks  in  Franklin's  arms. 


Disposition  of  Characters. 
Bxrana  Bustic  Rustics,  &o. 


^^ 


OUBTAIK. 


aCSB  LIBRARY 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


THE  ETHIOP 

PKICE  15  C] 


1  Robert  Make-Airs. 

2  Box  and  Oox. 

3  Mazeppa. 

4  United  States  Mail. 

5  The  Coopers. 

6  Old  Dad'8  Cabin. 

7  The  Rival  Lovers. 

8  The  Sham  Doctor. 

9  Jolly  Millers. 

10  Villikius  and  his  Dinah. 

11  The  Quack  Doctor. 

12  Tha  Mystic  Spell. 

13  The  Black  Statue. 

14  Uncle  Jeflf. 

15  The  MischieTons  Nigger. 

16  The  Black  Shoemaker. 

17  The  Magic  Penny. 

18  The  Wreck. 

19  Oh  Hush  ;  or,  The  Virginny  Cu- 

20  The  Portrait  Painter.  [pida. 

21  The  Hop  of  Fashion. 

22  Bonfc  Squash. 

23  The  Virginia  Mummy. 

24  Thieves  at  the  Mill. 

25  Comedy  of  Errors.  . 

26  Lea  Miserables. 

27  New  Year's  Calls. 

28  Troublesome  Servant 

29  Great  Arrival. 

30  Rooms  to  Let. 

31  Black  Crook  Burlesque. 

32  Ticket  Taker. 

33  Hypochondriac. 

34  William  Tell. 

35  Rose  Dale. 

36  Feast. 

37  Feuian  Spy. 

38  Jack's  the  Lad. 

39  Othello. 

40  Camille. 

41  Nobody's  Son. 

42  Sports  on  a  Lark. 

43  Actor  and  Singer. 

44  Shylock. 

45  Qnarrelsome  Servants. 

46  Haunted  House. 

47  No  Cure,  No  Pay. 

48  Fighting  for  the  Union. 

49  Hamlet  the  Dainty. 

50  Corsican  Twins. 

51  Deaf — in  a  Horn.  ^ 

52  Challenge  Dance. 

53  De  Trouble  begins  at  Nine. 

54  Scenes  at  Gurney's. 

55  16,000  Years  Ago. 


1 


57  Black  Mail. 

58  Highest  Price  for  Old  Clothes. 

59  Howls  from  the  Owl  Train. 

60  Old  Hunks. 

61  The  Three  Black  Smiths. 

62  Turkeys  in  Season. 

63  Juba. 

64  A  Night  wid  Brudder  Bones. 

65  Dixie. 

66  King  Cuffee. 

67  Old  Zip  Coon. 

68  Cooney  in  de  Hollow. 

69  Porgy  Joe. 

70  Gallus  Jake. 

71  De  Coon  Hunt 

72  Don  Cato. 

73  Sambo's  Return. 

74  Under  de  Kerosene. 

75  Mysterious  Stranger. 

76  De  Debbil  and  Dr.  Fauslum. 

77  De  Old  Gum  Game. 

78  Hunk's  Wedding  Day. 

79  De  Octoroon. 

80  De  Old  Kentucky  Home. 

81  Luciuda's  Wedding. 

82  Mumbo  Jum. 

83  De  Creole  Ball. 

84  Mishaps  of  Ciesar  Cram. 

85  Pete's  Luck. 

"  86  Pete  and  Ephraim. 

87  Jube  Hawkins. 

88  De  Darkey's  Dream. 

89  Chris  Johnson. 

90  Scipio  Africanus. 

91  De  Ghost  ob  Bone  Squash. 

92  De  Darkey  Tragedian. 

93  Possum  Fat. 

94  Dat  Same  Old  Coon. 

95  Popsey  Dean. 

96  De  Rival  Mokes. 

97  Uncle  Tom. 

98  Desdemonum. 

99  Up  Head 

100  Do  Maid  ob  de  Hunkpimcas. 

101  Do  Trail  ob  Blood. 

102  De  Debbil  and  de  Maiden. 

103  De  Cream  ob  Tenors. 

104  Old  Undo  l«lly. 
1(»5  All  Elephant  on  Ice. 

106  A  Maiia.Ljer  in  a  Fix. 

107  Bonrs  at  a  Raffle. 

108  Aunty  Chloe. 

109  Damung  Mad. 

110  Julianna  Johnson. 


Either  of  the  above  will  be  sent  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

HAPPY  HOURS  CO:\n'ANY, 

No.  1  Chambers  Street,  New  York. 


THE    ACTING    DRAMA 

PRICE  15  CENTS  EACH. 


1  Single  Life.  _ 

2  The  Boarding  School. 

3  The  Spitfire. 

4  The  Iiish  Dragoon. 

5  The  School  for  Tigers. 

!     6  C.abrielle  cle  Belle  Isle. 

7  The  Tipperary  Legacy. 

8  Deeds  of  Dreadful  Note. 
J  i)  \.  Peculiar  Position. 

'o  A  Private  Inqu-ry. 
H  I'll  Tell  Vour  Wife.  ^ 
'2  The  Fast  Family. 
13  Antony    and     Cleopatra 
Married  and  Settled. 
.    14  My  Friend  in  the  Straps 
!    15  The  School  for  Scheming, 

(Love  and  Money). 
I    16  Our  Mary  Anne. 


17  Miseries  of  Human  Life. 

18  An  Irish  Engagement. 

ig  How   to    Settle    Accounts 

With  Your  Laundress. 
20  Advice  Gratis. 
2t  A  Hasty  Conclusion. 

22  Weak  Points. 

23  Grace  Darling 

24  A  Gray  Mare. 

25  The  Middle  Temple. 

26  The  Original. 

27  The  Sentinel. 

28  The  Tiger  at  Large. 

29  Why  Did  You  Die? 

30  Sayings  and  Doings. 

31  The  Twin  Brothers. 

32  Ask  no  Questions. 

33  Cure  for  Coquettes. 


The  Cabin  Boy.  I 
Who  Stole  the  Spoons? 
Mrs.  Gamps  Tea  and  Turn 
The  Village  Doctor.  [Out. 
Family  Pride. 
Queen  Mary. 
'1  he  Three  Graces. 
■I"he  Race  Ball. 
Presented  at  Court. 
A  Sign  of  Affection. 
The  Dancing  Barber. 
Who's  Your  Friend  ? 
Charity. 

The  Wicked  World. 
Mother  and  Child  are  Do- 
ing Well. 
Lying  in  Ordinary, 
■"he   "■ 


i 


49  ,     _ 

50  The  Ringdoves. 


THE  AMATEUR  STAGE. 


Aladdin  and  the  Wonder- 
ful Lamp. 

The  Loves  of  Little  Bo- 
Peep  and  Little  Boy  Blue. 

Little  Silver  Hair  and  the 
Three  Bears. 

Robin  Hood;  or,  the  Merry 
Men  of  Sherwood  Forest. 

Little  Red  Riding  Hood. 

The  Frog  Prince. 

Blue  Beard ;  or,  Female 
Curiosity. 

Jack,  the  Giant  Killer. 

Two  Gentlemen  at  Mivarts 

Dark  Deeds. 

Marry  in  Haste  and  Re- 
pent at  Leisure. 

Wearing  of  the  Green 

The  Result  of  a  Nap. 

Monsieur  Pierre. 

Virtue  Victorious. 

Love  (Burlesque). 


FBICE  15  CENTS  EACH. 

17  Afloat  and  Ashore. 

18  Tragedy  Transmogrified. 

19  Fairy  Freaks. 

20  A  Medical  .Man. 

21  Harlequin  Little  Red  Rid- 

ing Hood 

22  Fireside  Diplomacy. 

23  Ingomar  (Burlesque). 

24  Money  Makes  the  .Man. 

25  The  Happy  Dispatch. 

26  An  Eligible  Situation. 

27  The  Pel  Lamb. 

28  The  Last  Lily. 

29  The  Three  Temptations. 

30  Katharine   and    Petruchio 

(Burlesque). 

31  His  First  Brief. 

32  'The  Girls  of  the  Period 

33  Matched  but  not  Mated. 

34  Penelope  Anne. 

35  A  Woman  will  be  a  Wo- 

man. 


36  Caught  in  his  own  Toils. 

37  Cousin  Florence. 

38  Lucy's  Love  Lesson. 

39  A  Game  of  Billiards. 

40  The  Wrong  Bottle 

41  A  Lyrical  trover. 

42  A  Bad  Temper. 

43  Women's  Rights. 

44  Mischievous  Bob. 

45  A  Pintof  Ale.r 

46  The  Last  Drop. 

47  The  Wine  Cup. 

48  Out  in  the  Streets. 

49  Mothers  and  Fathers. 

50  Taken  in  and  Done  For. 

51  All's  Fair  in  Love  and  War 

52  Dross  from  Gold. 

53  Aunt  Jerusha's  Visit. 

54  The  Village  Belle. 

55  Lord  Dundreary's  Visit. 

56  My  Peter. 

57  The  Cream  of  Love.  +" 


THE   VARIETY    STAGE. 

PRICE  15  CENTS  EACH. 


The  Big  Banana. 
Dot  Mad  Tog. 
A  Gay  Old  Man  Am  L 
The  Law  Allows  it. 
.\  Lcedle  Misd.ike. 
The  Spelling  Match. 
There's  Millions  In  It. 
Tootle,  Tootle,  Too! 


9  Dot   Madrimonial  Adver-  j  17  I  Love  Your  Wife 


disement. 
I  10  Mulcahy's  Cat. 
It  Dot  Qiiied  L'itging>;. 

12  All  in  der  Family 

13  Who  Got  the  Pig? 

14  A  Mad  Astronomer. 

I  15  A  Purty  Shure  Cure. 


16  The  Ould  Man's  Coat  t.iils. 

18  The  Decree  of  Divorce. 

19  Let  those  Laugh  wlio  Win. 

20  A  Dark  Noight's  Business, 

21  The    Lonely    Pollvwog   of 

the    Mill  Pond. 

22  The  Dutchman  in  Ireland. 


Either  of  the  above  will  be  sent  by  mail,  on  receipt  of  price,  by 

HAPPY   HOURS   COMPANY, 

No.  1  Chambers  Street,  New  Yqrk. 


